


if only you realize

by crimtastic



Series: if only [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Guilt, Kidnapping, Mostly Canon compliant through Black Panther, Romance, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-17 10:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimtastic/pseuds/crimtastic
Summary: Darcy, despite all of the warnings her mother had ever given her, looked at her Timer as a comfortable promise. Sometime after Puente Antiguo, it had finally stopped being pale and blurry, which Darcy took as a good sign. Then being a witness to the near destruction of the planet a few times, it was a day to downright look forward to.If only.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm back! I've been chewing on a story like this for a while, and have reached enough progress that I had to come and at least start posting it, otherwise I'd just never do it at all. I hope you enjoy it!

Darcy awakens in a sudden burst of air and immediately regrets it as she inhales a lungful of dust, causing her to violently cough. _What happened?_ she thinks, her brain muddled as she tries to lift her head to look around. A groan of pain escapes her as a cough sends shooting pain down her side.

“Ohhh fuuuck…”

She can barely cough out the words, and the room is in complete darkness. Darcy starts to creep her hands around her body, wondering at her odd position sprawled on her side, when she feels something hard against her. Pawing at the edges of the wooden feature, she realizes she is feeling the knobs of her dresser. The dresser that is usually on the other side of the room.

“The fuuuck?”

Darcy realizes very quickly that there’s no way she’s moving, pinned down this way, especially without knowing exactly what happened. Blinking back tears that she suddenly finds threatening her eyes, she tries to retrace her night.

“I came home from the bakery. I showered. I went to bed…” Darcy coughs out the words and struggles to remember anything else. As the pieces begin to fall into place - a shudder of the room, a sound of an explosion - she heads hears a shuffling noise in the background and the glint of light.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Darcy feels a surge of relief and calls out in a weak voice “Hey, hey!” which causes another spasm of pain as she starts coughing.

“Ma’am? Hey, ma’am, I’m here to help. You doing okay in there?” the male voice is shuffling pieces of debris as he talks.

“Apart from being stuck under my dresser, I’m grand!” Darcy yells back. “What happened?”

“The building was involved in an accident and I’m here to make sure everyone gets out safely so they can assess the damage. Your side of the building was hit the worst, so…” he pushes hard on something and Darcy yelps as the dresser above her shifts the dresser into her side more. She squints her eyes at the flood of light his flashlight emits fills the room.

Her room is in shambles. The wall where her dresser was placed has completely collapsed with the weight of her buildings upstairs gymnasiums equipment, which shoved her dresser straight onto her form sprawled on the floor… she must have rolled out of the bed. Darcy turns her head to see that her bed is a tangle of sheets with what looks like piping sticking through it, which suddenly makes her feel a bit better about being where she is.

“Oh mighty Mew-mew, this was not how I pictured my night,” Darcy grumbles as the man begins to test the weight of the dresser and blinks up at him. All she can see is the silhouette of his body, which is rather well built, as the light is glaring at her from his hip.

“Do you think you can shuffle over a bit if I lift it?” the man asks. Darcy takes a moment to see if she can wiggle her toes, _oh thank Thor_ , she can, and nods. She’ll pull herself out of this room with her fingertips if she has to.

“Won’t you need someone else to…” the words die in her throat as he promptly takes the corner of the dresser and lifts it up with one arm, a loud cacophony of protest coming from the debris above said dresser. He leans down, still propping up the dresser, and uses his other arm to help pull her from underneath.

“Oh, sweet merciful Frigga,” Darcy gasps out between being startled at the sheer pain blooming down her side as the weight is removed.

“I got you, I got you…” the man murmurs, setting the weight down gingerly on the floor, grimacing as the room shudders in response, before gently pulling her towards the relatively cleared living room. He shrugs off a backpack and pulls out a neck brace.

“You really are a man prepared, aren’t you?” she grumbles, adrenaline beginning to fade, as he begins to wrap the brace around her neck and goes through the motions of checking her body for any damage. He huffs out a slight chuckle, shrugging.

“I’m staying nearby and heard the commotion, so I grabbed my kit to come and help. Can you wiggle your toes?” he shines his flashlight at her feet. After her affirmation, she can hear the remorse in his voice.

“Well, I’m sorry for how much this is going to hurt, but we really should get out of here and I don’t think you should be walking with your wounds. Ma’am?”

Darcy is already drifting. Her side hurts, her head hurts, and suddenly the world is tilted as he gently scoops her up in his arms and stands. The journey down to the ground floor and outside passes in a blur of her staring through hooded lashes at the outline of his face, the swinging flashlight giving peeks to his profile. He carefully scales over rubble with her cradled in his arms, following a previously cleared path. The stabs of pain radiating from her side is keeping her awake, but her head is in a jumble.

_Where did you come from?_

A flood of emergency lights fills her vision, set with twinkling white flashes. The world is tipped at an interesting angle, and she feels the press of something underneath her. Concerned eyes are peering into her face, _blue, so blue_ , and she feels her body being arranged on a suddenly rolling conveyance.

“No…” Darcy whispers into the mask being placed over her mouth. “Who are…” she begins again, having trouble forming a full sentence. He pulls away, someone in a uniform blocking her sight of him. Her arm shoots out, trying to grab his sleeve, but her grip is too weak. It sinks in her bones that it’s terribly, desperately important for her to stay awake. _What is?_ Her body basks in warmth, and she can feel the grasp of sleep pulling her down.

_Ma’am? Ma’am?_

The dulcet tenor of his voice echoes through her head, and she knows no more.

 

* * *

 

When Darcy was a small child, she was puzzled by her mark. As a rule, speaking of your mark was taboo, but curious children were an accepted exception. She was full of questions.

Did everyone have one like she did? _Oh, no, there were many different kinds._ What kinds, momma? _Well, some people have names, or birth dates, or nothing at all. There were no hard rules for soulmarks._ Why not? _Because that’s just the way it is._ Why does it count by days? _No one knows, baby girl._ When is my Day? _Looks like October 8th, 2017. You’ll be almost 27._ Eugh, momma, I don’t want to wait! _I know, Darcy, I know._

“What is your mark, momma?” Darcy asks one day, shy of turning eleven years old. Her mother pauses her task at the sink for a moment, and sighs.

“I had a timer like you, baby girl.”

“Had?” Darcy’s brow furrows up. “Where did it go?”

Sandra Lewis sets down the soapy dish in the sink, wipes her hands off and sits next to Darcy at the table. Lifting her long sleeve, she points to her inner wrist.

“Right here, it counted down to March 17th, 1990. I know you can’t see it, but that day I met your father, and it’s now a completed shimmery ruby color.”

Darcy squints at her mother's wrist. “I can’t see anything.”

“I know, baby girl.”

“Is this why you don’t talk about dad?” Darcy asks. Her father had been brought up almost as much as soulmarks when she was younger, but her mother would always have to go clean the bathroom or some such task that would interrupt them. Darcy being the empathetic girl she was, didn’t like seeing her mom sad, so at some point stopped asking.

“Baby girl, your dad…” Sandra seems to struggle with her words. “I know you have questions about him, but I honestly can’t answer them. We met briefly, he gave me the most amazing gift of a baby girl, and we parted ways.”

Darcy nods.

“I want you to understand something very important, Darcy,” her mother's tone was serious, commanding Darcy’s whole attention. “Just because you have a soulmark, doesn’t mean there’s a happily ever after. Princesses do not always get a Prince. You have to work for your happiness, and a soulmark is no guarantee of that.”

“I love you mom,” Darcy cuddles up to Sandra, wanting to take away her sadness.

“I love you too, Darcy girl.”

“What was his name?” Darcy asks.

“Eddie,” her mother's voice was quiet.

“How did your mark look before you met him?”

“It just counted down the days until March, almost a black color,” was Sandra’s reply.

“Did it ever.. ever do anything weird?”

Sandra pulls away from Darcy to look her in the face. “Weird how?”

Darcy points at her wrist. “It’s blurry and grey.”

 

* * *

 

When Darcy bursts awake, it’s all at once to the brightness of a hospital room, a ray of morning sunshine illuminating through the windows. Her heart is beating wildly, and she struggles to get the oxygen mask off her face and ends up ripping cords out of the equipment parked at the side of her bed.

Alarms start shrieking around her and she tries to lurch her feet out of bed.

“Frigga fucker!”

Standing is a bad idea. While pain is blunted from what she assumes is medication dripping into her arm, the room swims in her eyes right as a pair of nurses burst into the room, scolding her in Dutch.

“Sit, miss, you have been injured, you need rest…” the thick Dutch accent over the English takes Darcy a moment to acclimate to before she remembers what country she is in. _Amsterdam. Studying my masters. Jane… Jane in London? London, for the conference? My room smashed, the man, oh Odin, **him** , where am I, where is he?_

“ _Where is he?_ ” Darcy asks. “The man who got me out of the building, is he here?”

The nurses exchange a confused look as they set about putting her to order.

“You came in an ambulance, there was no man, miss,” the one closer to her replies. “Your friend is here, however, I think she just stepped out.”

Darcy takes a few breaths, air shuddering through her, before nodding.

“My friend… Jane? She was in London. What time is it?” she asks.

“Just after 10 in the morning, your doctor will be in soon to discuss your condition and treatments. I’ll go see if I can I find her for you.”

“What’s the date?” Darcy demands.

“October 9th, 2017, miss.”

“...thank you,” Darcy quietly mumbles as she watches them finish up her room, bunching up the sheets with her fists until they finally leave.

_October 9th, October 9th, October 9th, October ninth, ninth, ninth…_

Darcy curls up on her side, silent tears coursing down her cheeks, and carefully turns to look at her wrist.

There, right on the bundle of veins, is a plainly curved zero shimmering at her in a silver hue.

 

* * *

 

Jane walks in a few minutes later, sipping a styrofoam cup and looking tired from worry.

“Darcy! Thank god you’re awake!” Jane immediately rushes to her side, concern etching her features as she takes in a lethargic Darcy. “What’s wrong? What happened? Do I need to call a nurse?”

Jane sits down on the bed, brushing Darcy’s hair out of her tear-stained face, her worry notching up as she realizes that the pain Darcy is in, it isn’t necessarily physical.

“It’s the ninth, Janey, ninth...” Darcy whispers.

“What’s the ninth, Darcy?” Jane asks, confusion riddling her.

“Absolutely nothing, Jane. It’s nothing. But the eighth is my Match-Day. He was there. He pulled me out. _And I don’t even know his name_.”

Jane gapes at Darcy, trying to remember how timer soulmarks work, as she herself just had bronze coordinates on her wrist from Thor and didn’t even notice the shimmering completion change until he had disappeared off the planet.

“I… where is he? Wouldn’t he have a timer, too, and look for you?” Jane asks quietly, peering around the room. Darcy shakes her head, trying to stay calm despite the fear that’s been building in her gut.

“I have no idea. He didn’t come with me in the ambulance, I guess. You haven't seen anyone?”

Jane shakes her head with a frown, “But that doesn't make sense. Wouldn’t he be looking for his Match?”

Darcy lets out a scoff. “Just because you have a mark, doesn’t mean that it works out, Jane. Sometimes you just get the one chance.”

 

* * *

 

The building had suffered strong structural damage at around 1:58 am on October 8th, due to a bus crashing into multiple supports on the northeast side of the building. Darcy had slept through this initial crash since it was a small shudder through the building as the buses girth essentially kept it from collapsing.

At 2:07 am, a gas leak from the crashed in restaurant was ignited, which usually wasn’t a concern as there was a safety shut off system to the gas supplying the building. Unfortunately, it had been improperly installed, so there was still a wave of destruction all the way up before the fail safe system from the street cut off the gas. Darcy's wall had exploded out suddenly, rolling her onto the floor and cracking her head into her nightstand. Her insensible form was subsequently buried by her dresser and debris.

Darcy had been recovered at 2:46 am after the unknown man had rescued one person prior and after relinquishing her to the paramedics returned with eventually another three, one at a time. After continuous warnings from the police, they finally tried to corner him for his information. It was the threatening arrest if he continued to circumvent their emergency procedures, that prompted him to finally disappear.

The description of him was ‘tall, well built, blue eyes’ which told Darcy nothing more than she already knew. Apparently, digging people out of their apartment homes was messy work and no one could even tell her what his hair color was. If Darcy had to guess, she was in his presence no more than ten minutes, with only four or five of them spent actually coherent. She vaguely remembers a scruffy aspect to his face, as if he had a beard, but it was all muddled together that she couldn’t be sure. She remembers the safety of his arms, carrying her as if she was weightless. She remembers the smell of burnt wood and virility from her being cradled against his neck. Unfortunately, those were definitely descriptions she couldn’t give to people to find him.

 

* * *

 

Darcy stays in the hospital another few days, after confirming her concussion and going through the treatment protocol. There were stitches near her temple from where she smashed her head against her nightstand and a few broken ribs, but she’s no worse for wear. Jane stays with her the whole time, rolling her eyes about Darcy’s bizarre excitement about having a ‘bitching scar’. After she’s discharged, they go to the police station to see if there is any other information. The trip is a disappointment with the copy of the initial report that gleans no new insights, so they continue with their errands.

“Did you want to check anything else, Darcy?” Jane asks. Letting Darcy’s boss know she is leaving and the forms for her emergency leave at the university are straightforward with the incident report from the police and her doctors note. All that is left them to pack up the few things that had been shuffled from the now structurally unsound upstairs to the outside courtyard for her to pick up. Darcy, fortunately, packs very light, since she is used to needing to move at a moments notice to chase Science! into the dead of night. They are heading home to New York, so Darcy can recover with Jane for the next few weeks.

“Could we stop by this building next door real quick?” Darcy nods towards the hostel, vaguely remembering the man saying something along the lines of ‘being nearby to help’. Jane agrees and they wheel Darcy’s dusty luggage into the lobby of the hostel, a cramped room.

“2 beds?” the clerk at the desk asks in a thick accent.

“Oh, thank you, but no, I’m just a ‘refugee’ from the building across the street,” Darcy nods in the direction of the cordoned off building through the window, and the woman looks grim.

“Terrible accident. Hope you are well,” she replies, “how can I help you?”

“This might sound crazy, but I think there was a man staying here who helped me get out of the building. He was tall, blue eyes, rather, er, fit…?” Darcy trails off, feeling a bit ridiculous. “He mentioned staying nearby, and seeing the commotion…”

“Ohhh, the American! I know exactly who you speak of. Yes, yes, he arrived for the night earlier in the evening. I was working yesterday morning when he came back from your building, covered in dust, and he cleaned up and checked out.”

“What was his name?” Darcy asks eagerly, amazed at her good luck for once. The clerk gives her an appraising look, obviously not impressed with the demand from a ragtag woman with a messy braid and wrinkled clothing, before shaking her head.

“We do not just give out guests information, miss, without just cause. While you may feel indebted to this man, he valued his privacy and had the means to ensure it.”

Darcy deflates. Jane frowns at the clerk.

“I understand your position, er, Jolien,” Jane begins after glancing at the nametag on the clerk's blouse. “But at the risk of sharing too much, that was her Match-Day, so is there anything you’re comfortable giving us? She didn’t have the opportunity to meet anyone else, and was rather incapacitated at the time.”

Jolien looks surprised, and sighs. “If it wasn’t terribly sad that you missed him, miss, I’d say it was terribly romantic. Meeting your Match by being pulled out of a burning building…”

The woman makes a subtle noise of appreciation, before continuing, “I cannot give you anything…” she drops her voice as she leans over the desk. “Except his name was Grant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore all of your comments. <3


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir, I can’t let you in there.”

Steve Rogers eyes the officer in front of him with “POLITIE” emblazoned on his jacket, gauging his firmness, and sighs.

“I literally just _came_ from that building, Officer, you couldn’t do any worse by letting me back in,” he says, pointing to a survivor who was with paramedics. “Who do you think got him out?”

“Sir, I understand, but we can’t let you go back in. The building isn’t sound.”

“I know that and I know there are at least 4 more floors to clear, so the longer you argue with me, the longer it is until someone could potentially die because I couldn’t get them out fast enough!” Steve hisses under his breath, gesturing slightly to the building. The officer colors in frustration, but shakes his head.

“I’m afraid not, sir. We appreciate your efforts with that gentleman, but we have it from here.”

Steve huffs an angry breath, rubbing his hand over his face a moment before nodding and walking away from the barricade. He heads towards his hostel for a quick minute to pick up an emergency bag he always keeps with him. Emerging from the hostel, he ducks into an alley that sits between the hostel and the damaged building.

_All right, how can we do this?_

Steve finds his way into the off-limits building fairly easily. It just takes scaling the adjacent building and hopping over to the fire escape of the damaged one before hauling himself up as high as he can before the officers running the perimeter on the ground notice him. A broken window on the 5th floor gives him access into the building and he finds inside the spiraling staircase go unimpeded all the way to the ground floor. The only reason he had already dropped someone off already was because he had been in the back of the restaurant when the bus had crashed in.

At this point, he’s not sure if it was an accident or sabotage, but either way, he’s going to help get civilians out. He turns on his flashlight attached to his hip and notices the door to 5b half crushed open, and hears a slight rasping voice coughing out.

“Hello? Anyone here?” he calls out, clearing through the doorway and stepping into a living room with a small kitchenette on the north wall.

“Hey!... hey!” the voice is faint, but there. More coughing prompts him to zone in on the door to the left of the kitchenette, with a bookcase tipped over blocking it.

“Ma’am? Hey, ma’am, I’m here to help. You doing okay in there?” Steve asks. He starts to pull the bookcase away from the door, which isn’t particularly heavy even for someone without his strength, and shoves it by the refrigerator.

“Apart from being stuck under my dresser, I’m grand!” she yells back. “What happened?”

“The building was involved in an accident and I’m here to make sure everyone gets out safely so they can assess the damage. Your side of the building was hit the worst, so…” He presses on her bedroom door which seems to be blocked from the inside as well before the door gives way to what is behind it. A small yelp emits from the female voice inside, and he steps in, filling her room with light. Focusing on her form, he assesses the damage of her bedroom.

Gym equipment spilling down through the ceiling, right on top of her form that is pinned down by a wooden dresser, which he had shoved, trying to get her door open. Her bed is a mess with piping and plaster from the shared wall of the kitchenette sticking out. The woman on the floor is slight, a film of plaster dust all over her clothing and hair, her long locks in a messy riot around her face.

She looks a bit stunned as she grumbles out, “Oh mighty Mew-mew, this was not how I pictured my night...”

“Do you think you can shuffle out if I lift it?” he asks, taking note of all of the weight was pressing on her. A momentary pause as she seems to consider his question before she nods.

“Won’t you need someone else to…” she breaks off in a gasp as he promptly takes the corner of the dresser and lifts it up with one arm. Protesting squeals come from the debris above said dresser and he takes the opportunity to lean down and help slide her out.

“Oh sweet merciful Frigga…” she groans as she’s jostled.

“I've got you, I've got you…” Steve mumbles, and he pulls her out and sets the dresser back on the floor. He helps pull her out of the bedroom through the doorway into her mostly cleared living room. The floors grumble in protest from the shift of weight and he winces. He takes the moment to pull off the pack off his back and pull out a neck brace.

“You really are a man prepared, aren’t you?” she says in a slurring voice. He gently pulls her hair aside to wrap the brace around her neck. As her head is stabilized, he takes a moment to look her over.

There’s a cut that runs just above her right temple that has the shiny hue of turning into a bruise. Her blue eyes are fluttering as she clings to consciousness and there’s blood blooming at her side, seeping onto the floor.

“I’m staying nearby and heard the commotion, so I grabbed my kit to come and help. Can you wiggle your toes?” He points the flashlight down at her feet. Her toes immediately wiggle, and he sends her a dismayed smile.

“Well, I’m sorry for how much this is going to hurt, but we really should get out of here and I don’t think you should be walking with your wounds. Ma’am?”

Her eyes are hooded and it sends a spike of concern through Steve, so he gathers her up in his arms as gently as possible and stands. He kicks open her door and heads down the stairs.

Five flights give him just enough time to realize that the woman in his arms, while of small stature, is enticingly curvy. His hands are gripping her legs and ribs, his mind supplying the blanks of how her form would appear upright. The realization of this causes Steve’s ears to go a bit pink, and he mentally berates himself for being distracted while she’s injured. Her eyes flutter occasionally, and he murmurs quiet reassurances under his breath.

Coming into sight of the emergency personnel, there is the endless flash of cameras blinking from behind the yellow tape, and he straightens authoritatively. He withstands the glare of Officer I-Can’t-Let-You-In-There and finds himself directed to a gurney. Gently setting her down, paramedics start to triage her, and he finds her eyes caught with his own and is jarred by how beautiful they are, thick dark lashes amid all the turmoil of her injuries. He then finds himself pushed back by the officer.

“I told you, you couldn’t go in there!” the Officer’s face is blotchy with anger. “My captain will be furious if he finds out you got back in!”

Steve is not paying attention, trying to look around the officer. The woman he had just brought out is struggling in her gurney, reaching out for him. She mumbles something.

“Ma’am? Ma’am?” he sidesteps the officer before being stopped by a glare from the female paramedic.

“Don’t get in our way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replies. He watches as the injured woman surrenders to unconsciousness and the paramedics wrap a yellow wristband around her arm before loading her up into the ambulance.

 

* * *

 

When Steve was 3 years old, his mother found him writing numbers in the dirt while she worked on her small plot of a garden. It was one of the hottest Augusts Brooklyn had seen for many years, resulting in most of the neighborhood boys running around without shirts. He seemed to be studying his wrist and then drawing in the dirt.

“What are you writing, baby boy?” Sarah came over to ask.

“Three! Five! One! One! Three!” he pronounces happily, “I know my numbers, mama!”

Sarah looks down at the dirt, noticing that it indeed did spell out 35113, in multiple places, backward and forward and some threes were even mirrored like round little E’s.

“I know you know your numbers, you’re such a smart little boy… but what are those numbers?” she asks. Steve holds up his wrist.

“They’re here!” he declares, pointing and looking exceedingly proud of himself.

Sarah smiles at him, bundling up the slight boy in her arms before hoisting him up to head into the house. She sets to making lunch while he entertains himself with a teddy bear, eyeing him occasionally with a concerned eye.

Sarah knows that timers were very specific. She’s not necessarily surprised Steve has one. Her brother Gerald, God rest his soul, had had a timer. But it came to naught since he perished in the Spanish Influenza two years prior, only weeks before his Timer was up. She had heard of some people claiming to have five digits, although it was usually documented for young children meeting their Match at thirty years or older. But to start your timer with a 3? Thirty thousand days? How long was that even?

Sarah sighs and pulls out a small notebook to do some math. Balancing the accounts seemed easier, and she can’t account for every leap year, but after a few minutes, she has a rough estimate.

“What are you doing ma?” Steve asks in between bites of his sandwich.

“Just playing with numbers, Stevie,” she replies. Frowning at the number, _that can’t be right_ … she sets to doing them again.

Same answer.

She glances at her little boy, jiggling in his seat as little children do when they’re getting bored of being still for too long, a list of health problems running through her head that has been an endless source of worry for her since he was born.

_How on earth will her sweet boy meet his Match in a hundred years_?

 

* * *

 

Steve walks into his house, dropping his bag by the door and taking off his shoes, before shuffling into the bathroom to look for a washcloth. Staring at his twelve-year-old reflection in the mirror as the cloth soaks up some cold water, he ignores the tear-soaked eyes and focuses on the split lip and cut eyebrow that his face is sporting.

He takes the wet washcloth and dabs it at his lip when he hears a knock at the door. Sighing, he goes to the door and cracks it open. Rolling his eyes, he steps back to let Bucky saunter in.

“You really took a licking, huh?” Bucky steers Steve to a chair before rummaging in the icebox for some ice. He grabs a kitchen towel to wrap around it before pressing it to Steve’s eyebrow. “What was it this time?”

“My mark,” Steve mumbles through the washcloth, keeping his eyes downcast. “Ricky Collins said there’s no way I have a mark, not even fate would saddle someone sickly like me on anyone…”

Bucky barks out a laugh.

“Look, it’s not like he can exactly prove you don’t have one, so why all the fuss? He’s just a pinhead,” he shakes his head like he can’t believe Steve.

“Well, just because I’m small, and get sick sometimes, doesn’t mean I can’t fight for anyone! Especially my Match. I’m going to fight so hard, you’ll see, even if it does take a hundred years!” Steve bursts out, jumping to his feet. Bucky drops the ice on the floor, confusion lining his features.

“What d’ya mean a hundred years?” he asks, reaching down to pick the ice back up.

Steve’s face goes white and he sits back down, shaking his head.

“Nothin’, Buck.”

“I mean, we don’t really talk about our marks, but obviously, everyone has one...” Bucky starts, setting the ice on the table, but Steve continues to shake his head.

“Not everyone has them,” he interrupts.

“Who’d admit that?” Bucky asks. He’s very puzzled, since speaking of soulbonds is considered the height of rude, but he feels like Steve is the scrappy younger brother he didn’t have.

“Someone who has no reason to lie,” is Steve’s reply, before he drops his voice to a whisper. “My ma.”

Bucky looks stunned. Sarah Rogers is a stern but lovely woman who works very hard as a nurse to provide for Steve, due to her husband's passing. Definitely not like the monsters portrayed in fairy tales who simply want to steal the love of a true match.

“Ma doesn’t like to talk about it, obviously, but she wasn’t dad’s match. Dad met his Match when he and she were both teenagers, but his Match died in an accident.”

Bucky chews on the words for a few minutes, before shrugging. The history books were full of tragic soulmark stories. This really wasn’t that different.

“Uncle Gerry had a soulmark, but he died from the Spanish ‘flu before he could meet them, too, so it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. Ma always tells me I need to worry about making myself happy and whole before any soulmarks nonsense.”

“Soulmarks aren’t nonsense!” Bucky refutes in a snarky tone.

“Oh, yeah, what’s yours then? How long till you meet your Match?” Steve spits out angrily.

“I don’t know, I don’t have a Timer!” Bucky yells back, waving his left hand. “I just have this dumb String!”

This makes Steve pause. “What’s dumb about it?”

Bucky shrugs.

“They say Strings are supposed to point the direction of your Match, but mine just... hangs there. Doesn’t do anything. Maybe she’s dead already, so it has to point to the ground,” he grumbles a bit. “But I hope it’s just something dumb and I’ll find her at the good and proper time.”

Steve snorts. “Bucky, you pinhead.”

“Enough about mine, what’s dumb about yours?” Bucky breaks out into a grin. Steve shifts in his seat.

“Well, it is a Timer. And it’s kind of pale…” Steve mutters, and Bucky nods.

“...and?”

Steve sighs and lifts his sleeve to look at the numbers only he can see. “It says thirty-one thousand, six hundred seventy-seven right now.”

Bucky blinks.

Steve grabs the ice off the table and begins to press it to his eyebrow again. “Jeeeeezzz.. ugh, it hurts.”

“Thirty-one thousand?” Bucky chokes out.

“Yeah.”

“How can it be thirty-one thousand?” he demands. Steve shrugs.

“I don’t know. Ma asked some fancy doctors about it a while ago when there was a conference nearby, y’know, proper doctors studying soulmarks, and none of them had heard of a number over twenty thousand before, in person. They were giving her some keen looks, I guess, so she dropped it. I’m just odd.”

“How long is thirty-one thousand anyways?” Bucky asks, too lazy to try to work it out himself. He’s not the one with the mark, so he’s pretty sure Steve knows the date anyways.

“It’s in 2017. The end date. So, you see, I have to fight, or I’ll never meet my Match.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna be old as dirt, Stevie,” Bucky points out. “If you’re even alive then.”

“Thanks, Buck, I’m positively glowing with your faith in me,” Steve snarks.

“You know what I mean! Like, that’s old for everyone. That’s just _old_. How will you make her happy? Do you think she’s gonna be as old as you?” Bucky fires off questions. Steve’s young face turns stony with resolve.

“I guess I’ll find out.”

 

* * *

 

“You ready for your procedure tomorrow?” Dr. Erskine asks.

“Of course,” Steve quietly replies, not sure why the doctor is at his bunk. The good doctor always had an uncanny ability to read Steve, which made him both unusually nervous and mildly amused at the same time.

“I have to say… we have gone over every test very rigorously, but there’s one thing that always struck me as odd, Steven,” the doctor says. “Is why you seem to not have a soulmark.”

Steve shifts a bit on his bunk, glancing down at his wrist, a motion that causes Erskine’s brows to raise.

“The chances of not having a soulmark, or to lose your match at such a young age, are fairly rare as I understand it. Do you not agree, Steven?” he continues on.

“Not as rare as you might think,” Steve replies. “But you’re right. I… omitted that, on my forms.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s, it’s not a usual soulmark, doctor. It’s just one more thing that doesn’t really add up, y’know?” Steve lets out a huff of air, a humorless laugh. “It’s just a basic Timer, maybe a bit pale from my understanding of how they usually work, but right now it’s reading to me twenty-six thousand, seven hundred and forty-nine days. Some date in the year 2017, which I frankly didn’t, don’t expect to make it to.”

“Well, we shall see, I suppose. I needed to know since we need to document every possible change your body may have from the procedure, you know. It’d be remiss of me to not at least ask,” Dr. Erskine replies, pulling out a small notebook from his lab coat. “Twenty-six thousand, seven hundred forty-nine, yes?”

Steve nods in reply.

“I’m sure we can keep this quiet on your charts, Private, so don’t worry. You would be surprised at how many people have unusual soulmarks.”

 

* * *

 

The plane is nearly empty, which is the way Steve prefers his traveling. He's more inconspicuous and able to moderately relax. Apparently, there were not a lot of travelers heading into the wilds of Africa.

He is leaning back in his seat, thinking about the woman with blue eyes and dark wavy hair, when his mobile phone rings. He isn’t quite sure why he’s even thinking about her, he knows nothing about her, except maybe her unusual swearing habits. He’s about ten hours into his flight, more than halfway, so hopefully, if the call is important, whatever crisis can wait till he touches down and at least has a shower.

“Rogers,” he answers the phone.

“So, who’s the lucky woman?” Natasha’s voice replies on the other end of the line, and he can practically hear her knowing smirk.

“What?” Steve asks. There’s _no way_ for her to know what he was thinking about. _Absolutely no way._

“You know that they had a date for your Timer in your SSR file, right? Those same files that SHIELD had?” she says, voice a little wary. “October 8th, 2017. The big day was a couple of days ago, Steve. Even _I’m_ not going to dismiss the importance of a Match-Day.”

Steve blinks.

“My Timer…” Steve drops the phone onto his shoulder, ripping at his sleeve and pulls it up. There, barely visible on his skin, is the lavender hue of a zero.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“So, how’d it go?” Natasha asks, nonchalantly.

“It didn’t! I must have met her and not even realized it!” Steve groans and rubs his forehead for a moment before looking at his wrist again. “Ever since the serum, I couldn’t even _see_ the numbers, Nat, so I assumed…”

“That you were Matchless?” Natasha’s voice is extremely flat, in such a way that Steve knows she is irritated. Irritating Natasha is something Steve always strives to avoid.

“Look, it didn’t seem important, and if I wasn’t staring at a completed mark right now, I’d have still thought I was Matchless!”

“Well, then, no time to lose. Who did you meet that day?” Natasha’s voice of reason appears and Steve lets out a slight breath of relief that he pretends she can’t hear.

“That was.. Sunday? There was the bus crash into an apartment complex, so…” Steve begins sheepishly.

“Who didn’t you meet, then. Where was the complex?” Steve explains the details to Natasha, who ends the call with a click.

Steve drops the phone into his lap, holding his wrist and running a finger along the curve of the zero.

He remembers looking at his wrist after the serum and his Timer being completely blank. He hadn’t even bothered to explain it to the SSR agents at the time, chasing after Erskine’s assassin. He remembers waking up in 2011, checking his wrist before even sitting up and being disappointed yet again with his Timer remaining eerily blank.

Somehow the date of October 8th seemed so far away for so long that it somehow completely slipped his mind.

_I am the worst Match ever._

He is thinking about all the things that make him a terrible Match when Natasha calls back.

“So I can narrow it down to the apartment complex, maybe the emergency personnel, but I have to ask… is there anyone you think it could be?”

“Well…” Steve hedges, feeling rather cornered. Natasha is a fount of patience, though, and refrains from commenting until he finally forges on. “There was this one woman. She was concussed, though, so I don’t want to just assume…”

“Description, Steve, now. I know you don’t forget,” she replies.

“5 foot 3. Dark, long hair. Blue eyes. Kind of, uhm, shapely,” Steve mutters, glancing around himself despite the empty seats around him, feeling embarrassed.

“Anything else?”

“She used some unusual expressions,” Steve can’t help the smile in his voice.

“Yeah, it’s the turn of the century jargon,” Natasha dismisses.

“No, it was more than that… she said something about a ‘Mew-mew’? And Frigga,” Steve frowns at Natasha’s sudden explosion of Russian, pulling the phone away from his ear as the blinking red numbers indicate she's disconnected the call.

Sighing, Steve realizes that he is probably the biggest clod his Match is unfortunate enough to meet, even if it was briefly. If he does find her, she will be understandably furious, and maybe it’s just for the best that they stay apart. Goodness knows he’s involved with enough danger, and he knows how hard it is for the significant others of the team. But then she wouldn’t know her Match exists.

As he’s going down this train of thought, his phone rings again.

“Yeah?” he answers.

“Darcy Lewis, 27, in Amsterdam for a masters in Poli-Sci. No record of a mark, but honestly, considering her interactions with SHIELD, I’m not surprised for her lack of candor…” Natasha rattles off information, bewildering Steve. “I’m sending a photo now.”

Steve pulls his phone away from his ear to see a photo pop up of a woman, the woman, running around an overcast setting with a huge knitted hat on her head.

“Yeah. That’s her. She was involved with SHIELD?” Steve asks, a stone of misgiving settling down in his stomach.

“Yes, but not by choice. She was a bystander in a couple of situations and is always quick with telling SHIELD to quote _fuck off_ unquote,” Natasha replies. “She doesn’t seem to have a high opinion of them, but unfortunately means she also has a file, so I’m sure Ross keeps tabs on her.”

Steve sighs. Ross and Tony would not be a helpful addition to this situation.

“Where is she now? Is she still in the hospital?” Steve questions.

“Negative. From what I can gather, she left there as soon as she could and is en route to New York with Jane Foster. Foster has a Stark grant working on Bifrost technology, as far as I know, but they loan her out as a speaker at science conferences. She had been in London for the Expo there, so it wasn’t that hard for her to bundle Lewis up with her.”

“Bifrost? Doesn’t that involve Thor… oh,” Steve suddenly connecting the dots. “Lady Jane. Thor’s, erm, girlfriend? Ross has Foster under his thumb with a Stark contract in case Thor comes back, huh?” He felt a bit sick to his stomach.

“Right. Although, last reports were showing Foster ended it with Thor. Lewis was her intern when Thor landed, so she’s been dragged into all manner of Asgardian family struggles,” Natasha replies. “Looks like they’re headed back to the Tower, where Foster is currently housed, so Lewis can recover for a couple of weeks.”

“Were her injuries that bad?”

“Seems the concussion was the most concerning, but she had stitches and a couple of broken ribs.”

Steve sighs.

“So, even if I turned around right now, it’d be too late. She is firmly ensconced in Ross ‘territory’ and who knows when, if ever, I could see her.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Natasha’s voice is soft, but Steve just chuckles.

“It wouldn’t be me if it was easy, Nat, and I have no one to blame but myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh noooesssss.


	3. Chapter 3

“That Frigga fucker!” Darcy slams the phone down into its cradle, which resists, making her have to wiggle the handset back and forth until it finally rests properly. She continues to glare at it as if being difficult was an added insult.

“Now what did the phone do to you, Half Pint?” the drawl from the doorway of the rather swanky office Darcy occupies causes her to glance up, a glare leveled at the bearded man leaning there in a tuxedo.

“You know, at some point in my life, I thought there were good guys. Then, every time I think things are going my way, it slaps me in the face that no, no, good guys simply are better at masquerading,” she bites out. “Avengers Initiative is as bad as SHIELD, _Tony_.”

“Don’t pull your punches now, Lewis,” he replies, waving a glass with two fingers of amber liquor around, sloshing some of it on the floor as he walks in. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“If you really did give a shit about saving the world, which, let’s face it, soooo many problems would have been avoided if you’d sidestepped that little PTSD ego trip, maybe you’d actually contribute to something worthwhile instead of just going ‘fuck it, I need adult supervision’ like... “ Darcy cuts off, watching Tony knock back the entire drink before dropping the glass nonchalantly on the floor, a shattering sound echoing in the room.

Darcy frowns, a niggling feeling of shame settling in her gut as she realizes that was definitely uncalled for. Especially considering how well Tony himself had been treating her and a reluctant Jane since she’d arrived.

“Like, okay, I get it, but _Ross_? Do you have any idea what that asswipe did at Culver? Do I need to try and befriend his own _daughter_ , who, by all accounts, is the Match of your best friends life, to explain to you how awful he is?”

Tony walks over with a saunter to the bar and grabs two more glasses and a large bottle of amber liquor. Filling his glass, he turns, nodding his readiness. “By all means, continue.”

“I really don’t think you necessarily need me to spell it out for you, Tony,” Darcy grumbles into her slinky dress, bunching it up in her hands. Her own embarrassment and his drunken complacency take the fight right out of her.

“So what’s the problem?” he asks, bringing the other glass and bottle over.

“My master's program has been put on indefinite hold, as my professor just called me in concern about,” Darcy holds up her mobile phone, waving it to show the messages and voicemail alerts that were pinging her phone. “I figured an international call would be better at your fancy desk, but really, what am I going to tell them? ‘Help, help, I’m being repressed’ by the U.S. Government? Surprise, surprise...”

She takes a small breath before continuing.

“So instead, I decided to poke around, see what I have to work with. That sent me down a rabbit hole that’s alerted me to the fact that Jane's account has been frozen. As in, she has access to her labs and all aforementioned research if she complies with the AI team, but no _rights_ to her work, which is as good as mooring her right here,” Darcy glares at Tony as if it's his fault. “And they know I’d never leave Janey in this Frigga mess. Instead, they’re making it difficult for me to even look for ways to get her out by keeping me ensconced firmly with her.”

He pours her a drink, handing it to her unconcerned.

“Well, just sidestep Ross, then.”

“You don't _sidestep_ the Secretary of State, Tony, don't be an ass.”

“Have you tried putting him on hold? Works great for me,” he shrugs.

Darcy stares at him for a solid ten seconds, contemplating his particular brand of insanity, before downing the glass with a disgusted grimace.

“Oh my Mew-mew, what _is_ this?”

“Best not to know,” Tony responds as he pours them both another glass. “About calm enough to go back to the party?”

“Is anyone calm enough to go back to whatever you want to call that abomination of a ‘party’, Tony?” Darcy stands, gravity pulling her silk dress back down smoothly from where she had nervously wrinkled it.

“I must say, I’m offended. Starks only throw the best parties,” Tony clicks the glasses together before they both down the alcohol.

“What,” Darcy coughs out through the burn of the drink, “is the point of this party, anyway? We could have had a party night in the tower with just the gang. This just seems like irrelevant schmoozing to appease Ross.”

“Ding-ding, you win a prize,” Tony chimes and offers her his arm. She stumbles on her heels for a minute before taking his arm and he confidently steers them out of his office. “I figured it can’t hurt to make nice, even if your smile might be cutting into you by the end of the night. Why do you think I have such a fabulous selection of booze?”

Darcy tilts her head, contemplating him as they enter the elevator. The majority of what Darcy knew of Tony Stark was from the SHIELD data dump. She’d seen tabloids run ridiculous theories on him but had always tossed those speculations aside. Now she was wondering just how big the grains of truth were in those articles.

“Because you’re an alcoholic?”

Tony’s face splits into a sardonic grin. “That, too. FRIDAY, back to the party!”

“So, what do you get out of this? I would imagine you could untangle AI from Ross with fairly little difficulty if you actually put your best minds to it,” she asks after FRIDAY confirms and the elevator begins to move.

“And what would that accomplish? Alienate our government, cause the biggest ‘eeney-meeney-miney-mo, I declare a thumb war,’ but with guns? No, the Accords happened, whatever your opinion on it, so now I get to run interference on all sides. Really wasn’t where I was expecting to be, Half Pint, but I’m not about to kick that can down the road…” Tony sighs, running a hand over his beard as the doors open.

He leads her out and they turn a corner where a hall is bedecked in sparkling finery. The perk of owning the building is definitely knowing where all the side exits to a rather secure party are. No one questioned her leaving, and no one questions them coming back.

“Darcy!” Jane appears out of thin air, eyeing Tony with distrust.

“Don’t give me that look, Foster, Darcy is just fine with me. Scout’s honor,” Tony raises his glass as if attempting to hold up two fingers.

“I think Pepper is looking for you,” Jane tells Tony briskly, pulling Darcy away from his arm, who responds with an unladylike squeak as she tries to regain her balance.

“Of course, my _lady love_ is always looking for me. Lewis, a pleasure as always. Don’t hold back in the future, it’s refreshing to have a nice dose of reproachful reality,” Tony nods his head and wanders away. Jane glares at his back.

“You know, for someone who funds all your research, you seem to really detest the man,” Darcy murmurs. “Did he mess with your equipment or something?”

Jane steers them towards the hors d'oeuvre table, frowning as Darcy grabs a flute of champagne that passes by them.

“Well, apart from just generally being a pain in the ass about my work, he won’t stop throwing out Thor references. I mean, Thor hasn’t been seen in _years_ , what the hell is he playing at?” Jane grumbles and stuffs an amuse-bouche in her mouth.

“Ah, that explains the ‘lady love’ comment a moment ago, huh?” Darcy snickers, “And it’s not like _I_ don’t throw out Thor references constantly, Janey.”

“Yeah, but I know you’re not trying to get a rise out of me,” she replies after swallowing the bite. “And you’ve known Thor as long as I have. Longer than Tony, certainly.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve figured out, Jane, is that Stark loves getting under the skin of everyone. It’s how he sleeps at night.”

“He doesn’t seem to antagonize you though,” Jane remarks thoughtfully. “At least not purposefully. I wonder why that is.”

Darcy shrugs.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Darcy mutters, tipping her flute back.

“Did you have any luck?” Jane asks, nodding to Darcy’s dress.

“What, finding a dress with pockets? You know me so well, Janey,” Darcy sarcastically comments, digging into said pocket to pull out her phone, swiping it on and eyeing the screen. “No, we’re effectively stuck here for now. My programs have been canceled, and we couldn’t get your work extricated without Stark's help anyway, so it's best to just wait and see what happens.”

“What do you mean, wait and see what happens?” Jane asks, confusion lining her features. Darcy pulls her to the side and drops her voice.

“We’re in Avengers Tower, with some of the most powerful people on the planet, enjoying a welcome to the New Year. There’s more money and power in this room at this point in time than there is on entire _continents_ , and you think that it will be this peaceful forever? History repeats itself, constantly.”

“So just sit tight, hope we’re not in the blast radius of the next explosion?” Jane’s eyes are wide.

“Well, it’s only a matter of time before Loki comes and fucks it up spectacularly.”

“But he’s _dead_.”

“I know what you heard, Jane, but I don’t believe it. Even if I didn’t have direct experience with his capers, by all manner of Norse mythology, Loki is impossible to kill. He’s hiding, I’m sure of it. Probably in plain sight.”

“He died in Thor’s arms,” Jane argues. “Thor was very distraught.”

“Oh, Jane, you know I adore Thor, right? He’s the best big shield-brother a girl could have, but goodness is his actual brother one of his weak points. He’s very straightforward, so I cannot wait for him to return and see how Ross has essentially been threatening us...” Darcy chuckles to herself. “But in any case, I don’t believe it. Best to assume that Loki’s alive, then be surprised when he actually pops up.”

Jane nods thoughtfully.

“Ross isn’t really threatening us, though, Darcy. He’s just ensuring our safety,” she says. Darcy snorts loudly, causing another guest to turn and glare at her with distaste.

“Yeah, well, there’s nothing like holding a demigod’s Match against their will to keep people in line. Try prying your research out of his hands _now_ , he’s got it on lockdown. Even if we wanted to bail, your Bifrost research is effectively ransomed, Janey. And I really, _really_ don’t want to tangle with Ross. He’s lawful evil, no, thank you,” Darcy shudders. “This would have been a lot simpler if you hadn’t said anything about your Mark.”

“Marks don’t _matter_ , Darcy. You told me yourself, marks are only what you make of them,” Jane replies. “Granted, I should have been a bit more discreet, but I was surprised…”

“While I’m glad you’re taking charge of your destiny and not moping over Thor, it doesn’t mean other people won’t use it against you. And surprised? You blurted it out to Son of Coul when they were interrogating us - nicely I might add - about Thor after he left the first time. Of all the people to tell, SHIELD was by far the worst option. Even if Phil himself was pretty chill about it.”

“Yeah, but I could pinpoint who my Match _was_.”

Darcy lets out a low whistle. “Low blow, Janey.”

“Look, you didn’t escape your ratty sweatpants moping phase for a solid _three weeks_ , Darce, and I hated seeing you like that,” Jane states, looking a bit admonished. “If any Match was worth it, he’d have stuck around.”

“I was injured! I’d like to see you in anything but sweatpants with two broken ribs! And we don’t know the circumstances. Maybe he’s on the run from the mafia, couldn’t stop to chat…” Darcy replies, replacing her flute of champagne for a new one that passes by.

“Yeah, on the run from the mafia, but totally took the time to pull his Match out of a burning building and then disappear like _smoke_.”

“As loathe as I am to interrupt, Darcy, you’ve met your Match?” Pepper Potts appears at her side, eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

Darcy chokes on the champagne she was attempting to drink. Jane pats her back sympathetically. Pepper waits patiently for Darcy to regain her breath and speaking abilities.

“Miss Potts! I’m so sorry, I…” Darcy blubbers a bit.

“Darcy, we’ve discussed this, call me Pepper. What is this about your Match ‘on the run’?”

Darcy shakes her head, waving her off. “Nothing, nothing at all. Jane’s just being melodramatic.”

Jane eyes Darcy suspiciously before charging on. “She met her Match at the accident in Amsterdam, Pepper. Maybe a ten minute meeting as he pulled her out of the building, where he promptly disappeared, nary a word.”

“Traitor,” Darcy hisses at Jane.

Pepper purses her lips, rolling the information in her mind.

“What have you done to find him?” she asks. “I’m sure AI could help. I mean, just ask Tony, I’m sure FRIDAY could build some sort of likeness, pinpoint the travelers in the area…”

Darcy adamantly shakes her head negatively.

“Ohhh, no. Despite me having hazy memories of the whole encounter, no one knows except Jane and I. No one _will_ know, because on Frigga’s grave will I let Ross know _anything_ about me that he can exploit. And I’m sorry, as secure as your AI methods might be, he’d find out. Nothing, Pepper. Please.”

Pepper hums thoughtfully before nodding. “I’ll find someone to do it discreetly.”

“Pepper, please,” Darcy sighs, exasperated at both Pepper's candor and her own slight bud of hope that she feels bloom in her chest.

“I would never do something without your permission, Darcy, please believe me. All we have to do is gather a full report of the incident you were involved in since I’m sure there was more added to the initial one you brought with you, and snag a look.”

“Snag a look at what?” It’s Tony’s turn to appear at Peppers side, kissing her cheek. Darcy groans aloud.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Pepper smirks at Tony. “Just look at the Sokovia Relief Effort file. Darcy had some ideas of what you could do to improve relations with the people there.”

Darcy breathes out slowly, knowing that any break in facial expression would be a giant _liar liar, pants on fire_ beacon for Tony. Jane’s eyes ping pong between the three of them, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, namely, _don’t_. You can send money, but your actual presence will just exacerbate the problem. Is there anyone you’d know who’d actually vie for you? Preferably Sokovian?” Darcy jumps right into the subject change, relieved that their conversation was sidetracked.

“Well, Wanda, but she’s a bit understandably pissed at me,” Tony shrugs. “Kid’s probably got it right, but hey, mistakes were made and now I don’t even know where she is to apologize…”

“The great Tony Stark is unaware of whereabouts of someone he needs? Color me shocked,” Darcy snickers.

“Hey, Half Pint, I’ll have you know I have the best state of the art surveillance systems, I can find probably most anyone, but she’s also Scarlet Witch, so she’s got a one-up on stealth,” Tony waves a finger at Darcy, who shrugs.

“Fair enough. When was she last seen?” Darcy asks.

“Germany.”

Tony has the look of someone who feels guilty but doesn’t particularly want to be caught, eyes roaming around the room.

“While I am absolutely captivated by this conversation, I did come over here for a purpose. Pepper, would you like to dance?” Tony offers Pepper his arm, who smiles at him and nods.

“I’ll speak with you later, Darcy, Jane. Enjoy your evening,” Pepper says as they walk away. She lip syncs _l_ _ater_  to them as she looks back.

“That was interesting. I’ve never seen you two deflect so fast, Darcy,” Jane comments.

“And I’ve never seen Stark run so damn fast, either. Germany, ha. He knows exactly where she is, he’s just too embarrassed to apologize. Or unable to.”

“What do you mean?” Jane asks.

“Jane, I know you are always elbow deep in your work, but there’s a plethora of information everywhere here, and I rather enjoy my reading, if you catch my drift,” Darcy replies. “There’s no way the altercation in Germany ended in anything but them all being apprehended, apart from the obvious ‘fugitives’ of Rogers and Barnes.”

Darcy sighs.

“Which, unfortunately, means they’re just as stuck as we are, wherever they are. If Ross has them in some high tech penitentiary, it’s probably a lot worse than swanky parties we are getting here. Which is exactly why I don’t want to scuffle with Ross if I can help it.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to see?”

“Natasha, for the last time, I’m not interested. Lewis has her own life, and I’m not going to be in some sort of standstill, hoping for scraps of information on her. Because, frankly, that sounds rather akin to stalking her.”

Natasha shrugs. “I stalk a lot of people.”

Steve rubs his face in frustration.

“Look, I know you want me to go get her, but it’s been three months. I bet she couldn’t even stand the sight of me right now even if she _knew who I was_. I mean, as her Match. Obviously, I’m kind of famous without even trying, but for goodness sake, she was concussed! I could have been, been…” Steve struggles to find a reference that wouldn’t be absolutely out of the realm of possibility, failing miserably and ending lamely with, “anyone.”

“She’s a smart one, Steve. She’d figure it out pretty quick, I’m sure,” Natasha says, fiddling with her phone. They were currently in Steve’s office overlooking the wild jungle, discussing their next steps once they finished their few days of reprieve in Wakanda.

“I just don’t want to impose on her life. And my identity alone is imposing, so y’know, it’s probably for the best we’re apart. _For now_ ,” Steve hastily adds on by the look on Natasha’s face. “Why does it matter so much to you? I mean, I know you’ve been matchmaking keen for, Jesus, as long as I’ve known you, but what is really going on here, Nat?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him.

“Did you know, some Matches are one way?”

Steve startles, not expecting that line of questioning. “No…”

“It’s really not that big of a deal, and practically undocumented since who would want to admit not being wanted by their Match, right? But it happens. My Match is not _his_ Match, so we go along like everything is normal and fine, but it’s like a splinter that will never truly go away.”

“Jesus, Natasha, I’m sorry…” Steve starts, but Natasha waves him away.

“It is what it is. I have no regrets. As far as I know, he has none either. But knowing that there are two people who, as far as we can tell, are Matched and _choose_ to reject that bond? Nothing is more insulting.”

Natasha stands up, leaving the room right as Bucky is entering it. She mutters something in Russian to him, which causes him to bark out a laugh. Watching as Natasha leaves, Bucky approaches Steve to sit down in a facing chair.

“So, do I want to know?” Bucky starts, leaning back in his chair in a carefree manner that reminds Steve of the ‘40s. Since taking a short nap in a Wakandan chamber, Bucky had awoken with far more recognition and personality than Steve had ever seen him in this era. He is obviously still healing, but Steve is eternally grateful for all the work T’Challa’s doctors have been putting into Bucky’s recovery.

“Do you remember when I was beaten up by Ricky Collins?” Steve asks suddenly. Bucky’s brow scrunches up in thought.

“Jesus, Steve, that was… oh, shit, he got your eye. Your ma was spitting mad at me when she got home and saw you. Thought I’d pulled you into something,” Bucky grins, pleased that he was able to pull something from so far away, so buried under decades of conditioning.

Steve smiles back. “Yeah, and it took a handful more fights that you couldn’t have possibly been involved in for her to realize I was doing it myself. Do you remember what we talked about?”

Bucky’s eyes shoot to his own left hand, to his pinky, and Steve knows that he’s remembered at least part the important conversation.

“I had a crazy number, didn’t I? Who knew that we’d both end up this far, together,” Steve says. “The date was October 8th, 2017, Bucky.”

He lets the date hang in the air, studying Bucky closely. Steve hadn’t brought it up to him since he wasn’t sure if Bucky was necessarily ready to discuss soulmarks, considering he was pretty sure Bucky’s mark might have gone with his arm.

Bucky is expressionless, staring at Steve as if waiting for him to continue. The pregnant pause makes Steve shift a bit.

“Anything, Bucky?” Steve asks, breaking first.

“Well, I assume there’s more to the story. You’ve obviously been chewing on it for now, what, _three months_?” Bucky responds. “You always were shit with dames.”

Steve glares at him, which causes Bucky to pull out his phone and type something, completely unconcerned.

“We met, briefly, and she’s tangled up with Stark. So it’s not like I’m sitting here on the sidelines, waiting to ask her for a dance. We can’t even occupy the same _country_ right now, let alone me just waltzing up ‘Hey, I think you might be my Match, coffee?’” Steve grumbles.

Bucky smirks as his phone pings, looking up at his friend with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re so full of shit, Rogers. No wonder Natasha’s mad at you.”

“What? You want me to waltz into the Tower, nevermind the number of people Ross has to have throughout the place, and put her over my shoulder caveman style and carry her out?”

Bucky shakes his head while turning his phone to Steve with a devilish grin. On the screen is a picture of Darcy, in a navy blue satin gown, hair coiffed to perfection, sipping on a champagne flute which only accentuates her neck and collarbone. Her body is all delicious curves and smooth skin, the dress sporting a modest collar but the position of the photograph hinting at a creamy bared back. She’s obviously at a party for the New Year, which was about a week ago, and Steve feels his mouth go dry.

“You, my friend, are _rife_ with shit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a dress with pockets are totally the priority of an evening gown, right?
> 
> <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this chapter was such a joy, you don't even know.

 

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you adore me?”

Darcy looks up from her desk where she is trying to decipher Jane’s handwriting, to see Tony handing her the nectar of the gods, coffee.

“5 minutes ago, or now?”

“Now, of course.”

“A solid seven,” is her reply.

“Only a seven? Damn it, Half Pint, I went all the way downstairs for this,” Tony grumbles. Darcy laughs.

“An eight then. What can I help you with?” Darcy asks. Usually Tony doesn’t find occasion to haunt Jane’s labs, as he gets mopey seeing Bruce’s own lab across the floor bereft of his friend. Avengers Tower must think opaque walls are positively a sin around all the fancy technology.

“I need you to go on a trip for me,” Tony says. “It’d be in the jet, all paid for and whatnot, and you could bring Jane with you if you wanted… security would be provided, of course, but nothing obtrusive…”

Darcy frowns, confused.

“Why send me? Where is it?”

“If I said a third world country, would you be upset?” Tony asks.

“Tony,” Darcy levels him with a stern look. “What do you actually want me to do?”

“I need you to talk to Wanda,” he blurts out.

Darcy lets the words sit in the air, her skeptical look all the reply she needs. Finally Tony continues.

“You’re good with people, you understand the implications of bringing her back to the fold and how politically advantageous it is, not that that’s the concern right now. Vision has been getting some… visions? That sounds so redundant. He wants to make sure she’s safe. I’m sure she is, but with what we _think_ might be coming, he wanted me to at least attempt to bring her back to the Tower, where we can keep an eye on her and utilize her help. I doubt I could get near her without getting punched in the face, ergo, you.”

“You want me to go to some undisclosed country, meet someone I’ve never met, who has powers that I only have a vague understanding of, to convince her to come back to a guilty pseudo-father figure and whatever Vision is, and play nice with Ross and all of his minions who may or may not have been a part of incarcerating her in the past?”

Darcy sends Tony an unimpressed look.

“How do you know about the incarceration?” Tony demands, alarmed.

“For Frigga’s sake, Tony, even if you _didn’t_ just confirm it, anyone with half a brain knows that there was no way in hell any of those redacted ‘combatants’ left that airport without handcuffs! You confirmed on New Year's Eve that obviously she - and I hope the others - escaped, but what the hell did you do to her that she had to go to ground?” Darcy yells back, unusually angry for a reason she’s not entirely sure of.

“They’re fugitives, Darcy. They took the wrong path, but if they come _home_ maybe we can get them back in the public's good graces, show them that they aren’t dangerous…” Tony begins, where Darcy cuts him off.

“Who vilified them in the _first place, Tony_?” she hisses.

There’s a pregnant pause as they both glare furiously at each other. Finally, Darcy breaks.

“Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not sugar coating _anything_ for her, so you probably don’t want to send me,” she states, anger still coursing her body.

Tony deflates, looking down morosely as he walks away.

“Plane leaves tomorrow morning.”

* * *

 

Darcy is in the middle of packing her bags, thoughts grim after her meeting with Vision when she’s interrupted by Pepper Potts showing up at her door.

“No, before you ask, Jane isn’t going to come. I’d rather her ‘closer to danger, as it’s further away from harm’,” Darcy mutters, pre-empting whatever she thinks Pepper is going to say, shoving a shirt into her bag.

“Do you know why Tony wants to send you, Darcy?” Pepper asks instead, which Darcy shrugs, not really sure where the question tends.

“Sometimes I find it better not to question Tony’s mind inner workings, Pepper. I doubt even he knows what he’s thinking half of the time, genius just seems to happen. What the Mew-mew do you pack for Africa?”

“You don't have an oar in the pond. Essentially, with Thor being gone so long, you have absolutely nothing to do with the Accords or the break that happened after. Being a neutral party who dishes out ‘half pints’ of truth, small enough so he can digest them without overthinking it. But prompts him to look for and figure out a new solution.”

Darcy gets a confused look on her face, glancing up at Pepper with incredulous eyes.

“Well, okay then? I know he's been surrounded by sycophants for his whole life, and he’s got daddy issues a mile away, but he doesn’t need to condescend to me.”

Pepper nods.

“I know, but he does feel responsible for you. For all of us. You should see him with this kid from Queens, Tony’s a downright mama bear when it comes to him,” Pepper smiles affectionately. “And as he’s finding out, despite not having any of his own offspring, you can mess up parenting pretty regularly. You can mother hen the wrong person, or agree to the wrong thing. He messed up with trusting Ross, a mistake I think he regrets every day. But there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s only forging forward and hoping for the best.”

“So what am I really doing? I can’t upsell Avengers, Pepper. Even if I knew this girl, her motivations and dreams, I couldn’t do it. It’s SHIELD and HYDRA and people in power playing games with our lives all over again, and I can’t,” Darcy covers her head with her hands and groans in frustration.

“I thought that maybe the world, the leaders at least, would understand that it’s not about Earth anymore. It’s not our petty squabbles between countries, that aliens do exist, and we barely have the means to be worth their notice, even with all our super people and technology. The Accords have no bearing on Thor, or Loki, or any of the other visitors we’re sure to get. All it does is keep us under corrupt, potentially tyrannical thumbs, so they can say they tried their best for the general public.”

Pepper smiles sadly at Darcy, patting her arm.

“And that’s why we’re sending you, Darcy.”

* * *

 

Lagos, Nigeria is no place like Darcy has been before. While the similarities of the desert and heat and sun are similar to Puente Antiguo, there is also humidity and people and noise. Darcy can hardly hear herself think over all of the people crowding around her every moment.

She holds up the StarkPhone that Tony had shoved in her hands before she left (“No arguments, Half Pint!”) and glares at it.

“Where the Mew-mew is this?” she grumbles to herself. Glancing at the two bodyguards beside her who’ve given her maybe two inches of space the entire trip, she points at the device to them.

“Joe. Where the Mew-mew is this meeting point?” she asks the one guard who she actually got the name of. Darcy is irritable, feeling entirely overdressed for the climate, but was given a specific outfit to wear for this expedition and didn’t feel like arguing for once. So she’s foregone comfort for a tactical vest of who-knows-what, which is itchy despite the undershirt she is wearing. Over the vest is a basic button-up shirt with a lightweight scarf thrown over her head and neck, paired with heavy cargo pants. She is hot, the pants are chafing in the most uncomfortable of places, and she can barely breathe with the girls in the tac-vest.

Aforementioned guard Joe looks at the device, confused, before snatching it out of her hand and showing it to the other guard. Darcy takes the moment to sit down on an open surface, fanning her face with her hand as they argue, closing her eyes.

In hindsight, Darcy realizes that dropping her guard in a foreign, potentially dangerous country is probably a terrible idea. But when she looks up, both of them are gone, StarkPhone and all.

“Fuck.”

“You know, I need to thank Tony for sending the most inept guards he could possibly find. Think he’d like a fruit basket?”

Darcy startles and turns to look at a blonde woman in a completely black outfit who’s leaning against a wall about 3 feet away.

“You must be roasting,” is Darcy’s blase comment. The other woman tilts her head.

“C’mon, we’re over here,” the blonde nods behind her, kicking away from the wall. Darcy stands, following the blonde.

The blonde shoots a look back at her that Darcy can’t quite decipher as she leads both of them through a maze of streets. Darcy is having a hard time orienting at all, so focused on avoiding people with their wares and clothing and who knows what else. She suddenly laughs out loud, drawing annoyed looks from passersby.

“I’d be such a shit spy,” Darcy giggles to herself.

“Well, you don’t exactly have any experience,” is her companion's reply. The woman lifts a blanket covering a doorway and pushes Darcy inside, which leads into a quiet room with a rickety table and a handful of chairs.

“We’ll wait here,” the blonde nods. “I am Natasha.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Darcy drawls in a fake southern accent, holding out her hand to shake. Natasha lifts an eyebrow and takes it in her own. Darcy continues. “I’m sure you already know who I am.”

“I’ve heard many things of you, Darcy.”

Darcy shrugs, pulling the scarf off her neck. Despite being under shelter from the sun, it is cloyingly hot in the room.

“I know, I know, my prestige proceeds me. Sorry to disappoint, but I can’t pull a rabbit out from my boobs despite what someone may have claimed.”

Natasha’s mouth twitches in a slight smirk which Darcy takes as a compliment.

“How long will we be waiting for Wanda?” Darcy asks, fanning herself with her hand again as she plops down into a seat, dropping her bag on the ground. “It’s hotter than the Fire realm, I swear to Frigga.”

“Indefinitely, at this point,” a deep voice says from behind her, and Darcy jumps.

Turning in her seat, Darcy sees _Steve fucking Rogers_ staring at her from the doorway before giving a small nod to Natasha, who proceeds to turn and leave.

“Fuck,” she grumbles to herself. “I’m going to kill Tony.”

Steve’s facial expression is completely undecipherable to Darcy as he walks over to sit in an adjacent chair. His smooth movements surprise Darcy, as his impressive bulk implies a sort of clumsiness, and he seems to make the room feel smaller.

“I should have figured there was no way in hell Wanda would set foot in this city,” Darcy says, trying to ignore the flutter of attraction that instantly floods her veins. “Not that I have any idea her likes or dislikes, or really any control over this itinerary, but that last trip here was pretty memorable.”

Steve continues to look at her as if waiting for her to continue. Darcy returns the appraisal, noting the lines of his face and how well his beard suits him. _Stop it, Darcy._

“Yes,” he finally replies.

“So, is this the part where you pull out bald eagles and stars and stripes and tell me I’m on the wrong side or some such nonsense?” Darcy asks, honestly unsure why this meeting is even proceeding.

“No,” Steve’s eyes crinkle just a smidge before settling back. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Are you sure? No? Then why on earth did you even bother to bring me here?” she crosses her arms. Darcy’s patience is running a little thin. She’s been - _nicely_ , she supposes - abducted from her guards in a strange, hot country, with no clear idea how she’s going to get home.

“I thought maybe you could pitch your message to me,” he replies, causing Darcy to snort.

“Want to hear about how your patriotic visage keeps Vision up at night, huh?” she sarcastically bites out.

“I haven’t been considered the face of patriotism, as you keep referencing, for almost two years now, Miss Lewis,” Steve states. “But I’d like to hear what you have to say all the same.”

“Well, there’s a problem with that, Mr. Rogers,” Darcy can’t help but giggle lightly as she drawls his name, leaning forward and fluttering her lashes in a facetiously flirtatious manner. “In that, you’re not exactly a young woman who I can _bond_ with.”

Steve’s form goes completely stone still, his eyes instantly turning to flint. Darcy is suddenly terribly unsure of herself, freezing herself. She feels an undercurrent of _something_ , but has no idea of what, exactly, even as she is in the middle of it. The moment hangs. There’s an awkward elusive feeling that makes her wrist itch, his eyes piercing into her before he finally looks away with a shake of his head.

“Wanda won’t come here. If you want to talk to her, you’ll have to convince me. Honestly, I don’t know why I should let you near any of us if Tony’s been filling your head with-” he is cut off by her angry interjection.

“Excuse me, you have no idea what I know. _You don’t know me_. But, fine, you want to know what I was going to tell her?” Darcy spits out, the strange embarrassment of the previous moment fueling directly into her anger.

“That she needs to stay the fuck away. Ross and his cronies are not going to go anywhere, even if their Frigga Accords aren’t worth being printed on _toilet paper_ when Thor comes back, because I honestly don’t know how the hell they thought it would ever apply to _aliens_ , let alone _royal princes_ of an entirely different planet. And Banner! There’s no way in hell Banner will agree to those terms with Ross spearheading it, not after what he was subjected to at Culver. Sure, they covered it up as best they could, but anyone with a shred of Culver experience knows exactly the shit they pulled on him. Honestly, I’m just here to tell her Visions been having nasty nightmares that they think means is the end of the world and won’t you pre-e-etty please reconsider being fugitives and come home and comb up their spilled milk?”

Darcy is breathing heavily after her rant, eyes blazing. Steve’s eyebrows shot up at the beginning of her monologue, and he looks confused at the end.

“Comb up spilled milk? How does that work?” Steve asks.

“It doesn’t.”

“Ah.”

“I’d have much rather done this over margaritas and pedicures, though,” Darcy adds grumpily. It is frustrating how attractive Steve Rogers is, so while she isn’t sure what she expected from him, it makes her hate how quick embarrassment makes her do stupid things. Like rant for far too long when a simple _Vision thinks it’s the end of the world_ would suffice.

Distracted by these thoughts, Darcy suddenly sees Joe and the other guard from her detail duck through the blanketed doorway. They have their silenced pistols up, pointed at both of them. Steve and Darcy both jump to their feet.

“Targets acquired,” Joe mutters into his shoulder.

“The fuck?” Darcy yelps. “I’m no target, asshole, you’re my detail!”

The returning smirk does not reassure Darcy.

There’s a very tense pause as Joe tilts his head, listening to something she can’t hear. Steve takes this moment to burst into action, kicking his chair into the additional agents form, knocking the agents gun up. Silenced shots pelt through the ceiling as they discharge accidentally.

Darcy, with the experience of a truly trained lab monkey, drops to the floor to avoid said shots.

Steve dodges Joe’s shot and rolls against the back his arm, pulling it at an unnatural angle, crouching down and uses the momentum to flip him over into the other agent. They both go flying through the doorway much further than is regularly possible, a solid twenty feet into the street. Steve stands up and glances down at the device strapped to his wrist. He turns to level her with an intense stare that Darcy isn’t quite sure how to read.

“Do you trust me?”

“What is this, Aladdin? No!” Darcy lies through her teeth as she looks up at him. She stands up as well, internally marveling at his height. There’s a glimpse of a wounded expression before he’s grabbing her elbow, pulling her with him out of the room and into the busy street.

“My bag!” Darcy protests suddenly, digging in her heels after a few dozen yards. Steve glances around, eyes narrowing on something in the distance before turning around and crowding Darcy into a quieter alleyway, his form pressing her against the wall with his body.

“You had to have a tiny bit of suspicion that you were a trap, right?” Steve leans down, murmuring in her ear. Darcy feels goosebumps explode over her body, brain stuttering to keep up.

“What?”

“Ross has pretty much free rein of the Tower, so he definitely knew you were coming to wrangle up us miscreants,” Steve’s lips are centimeters from the shell of her ear, the heated puff of his breath, the husky lilt in his rumbling voice, and oh Mew-mew, she is going to spontaneously combust. “Tony would have had to get approval to even send you.”

“Sorry, I thought I was sneaking out after midnight to make out with my boyfriend in the back of his Grand Am,” Darcy replies without thinking. A blush blooms over her face as she realizes what she has just said. “Except, y’know, my boyfriend is technically a Sokovian witch and the Grand Am is a third world country.”

Darcy can feel Steve’s eyelashes blink against her cheek and suppresses a shiver as he glances around himself.

“I’m going to ask you again, do you trust me? To return you to Tony, or wherever you want to go,” Steve levels her with his direct commanding look. _His eyes are so blue_ , is her immediate thought. She nods mutely, mind in a tumult of contradicting impulses.

“I would like to assume you are supposed to be returned unharmed, but frankly, what I just heard over their comms, that’s a negative. So stay close to me, we’re going to get picked up a couple of miles from here,” he pushes away from the wall.

Sweet Frigga, Darcy can breathe again. Then immediately tenses up again as he takes her hand in his, pulling her along with him. There is no resistance this time, and he navigates her around people and corners effortlessly.

_This is a dream. There is no way I’m wandering the wilds of a Nigerian marketplace with Captain America holding my hand. I’m dreaming._

“Wait, did you say a couple of miles?” Darcy hisses through her teeth, already getting winded from the whirlwind of twists and turns around people, the binding vest around her bosom making it difficult to get a chest full of air.

“It’s actually fairly close, but I need to make sure they’re not tailing us. You don’t have anything tracking you, do you?” he glances behind himself to give her a once over. Darcy’s pretty sure she’s imagining the appreciative glint that flashes in his eyes for that moment, her mind still trying to crawl out of the gutter it had found itself thrust down into.

“Well, if I did, I’d like to think I’d have the common sense to dump it by now, but no, the StarkPhone was the only thing I was given and I’ve lost my bag,” she huffs out. “Unless you think they sewed something into my tac vest.”

Steve swears under his breath, pulling her around into a deserted corridor and crowding her space again.

“That is entirely a possibility,” he murmurs down at her.

“Fuck, really? I hate this spy shit, Mew-mew knows I had enough of it with SHIELD,” Darcy grumbles, watching Steve snag a blanket from a nearby window. “What are you doing?”

“You have to take it off,” he replies simply, holding up the blanket above his head, blocking his view and all around her.

“Oh, for Frigga’s fucking sake,” Darcy’s hands immediately go to the buttons of her shirt, stripping it off quickly. The tear of zippers and velcro can be heard as she rips off the offensive garment and she drops it to the ground. She sighs in appreciation for a brief moment, being able to take a full breath again, when Steve coughs.

“Oh, right,” she mutters. Darcy swears again under her breath, as her undershirt is damp and woefully unprepared for the weight of her chest and struggles to button up her shirt quickly. Glancing up, she notices that Steve is completely hidden from view, and snorts as she finishes the last button.

“I have to say, this is by far the most respectful any guy has been to my privacy when changing,” she grabs the blanket to pull it down, taken surprise by the red of Steve’s ears. “And I didn’t even bare any skin.”

He keeps his eyes averted and drops the blanket back on the windowsill he found it on before grabbing the vest and her hand, pulling them back into the streets.

“Oh, by mighty Mew-mew, why’d you bring it with us?” she gripes at his back. It’s much easier to keep up with him when she can properly breathe.

“Better to leave it in a crowded area, it will take them longer to find it, then we can get out of here,” he replies. Darcy nods even if he can’t see her.

Threading through a pavilion filled with stalls, he surreptitiously drops it behind a vender and nods.

“Nat, how’s extraction looking?” he mutters, which makes Darcy look at him sharply. _How many people were privy to their discussion?_ She really should have assumed they’d all have low profile headsets.

“ETA 4 minutes,” he mutters again.

Darcy loses any sense of time. There’s too many people, turns, and she’s about to beg to stop. _It’s okay,_ she thinks, _to leave me. They wouldn’t actually hurt me, right? Ross would eventually have to return me to the Tower sometime._

A shot rings through the air, whizzing by her right ear, causing a display of pottery to explode next to her. Darcy screams. The crowd panics, going every direction, and Steve grabs her around her waist to pull her along with him as more shots ring through the air.

“Nat, we need extraction _now_!” Steve yells as they come around to an open parking lot.

No sooner are the words spoken does a hovering vehicle slide through the air at them, its hatch opening. Steve jumps up into it, hauling a dazzled Darcy along like she weighs nothing and climbs up the ramp as it closes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I was going to draw out updates a bit more, but then I realized it's like 16 days until Infinity War comes out and ohhhh nooooessss. I have a lot written out, but my goodness it takes so much time to re-read and re-edit and then upload and re-read and re-edit...
> 
> comments make my world go round. <3


	5. Chapter 5

 

Darcy, windswept and out of breath, clings to Steve. He glares around the small room which consists of Natasha and Bucky, anger coursing his veins in ways he hadn’t felt for years. Not since that awful fight in Siberia.

“We have their comms?” Steve’s voice is flat.

“And footage,” Natasha responds. Steve nods once before going over to a seat against the hull and setting Darcy in it.

“Are you alright?” he asks her, kneeling in front of her.

“Yep,” Darcy mumbles.

“Hey,” Bucky drops her bag and scarf on the floor next to them. “You left these.”

Darcy stares down at the bag, expression blank.

“Her phone is clean, Steve,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Oh, you listen here, buster,” Darcy jumps up, startling both of the men, prompting Steve to rise on his feet. She wags a finger in Bucky’s face, scolding. “It’s generally not considered polite to go through people’s things.”

“I’m, er, sorry?” Bucky eyes Steve, who in turn is looking at Darcy with a marveled expression, anger completely melting.

“Yeah, you better be,” she grumbles before sitting back down and pulling out said phone from her bag, fiddling with it.

“Come on,” Steve mutters to Bucky and they head up towards Natasha.

“Exciting meeting?” Natasha asks, glancing up at Bucky. “I told you.”

“Get that look off your face, Steve, she’ll know something is up,” Bucky hisses under his breath. Steve frowns.

“What look?”

“That I-just-fell-in-love-with-you look.”

“I just find it surprising she’s not scared of you!” Steve defends. “She’s been around Tony for months now.”

“She doesn’t know who I am, Steve.”

“I doubt that even matters, she-” Steve starts before Natasha interrupts him.

“Boys.”

Steve and Bucky stop, turning towards Natasha who’s fiddling with the controls.

“Are we heading back to Wakanda? If so, we should probably clear her with T’Challa,” Natasha tilts her head back towards Darcy’s seat, who’s still frowning into her phone.

“Right,” Steve lifts his arm, fiddling a moment with the device there, before finding himself connected to T’Challa.

“How did your mission go, Steve?” T’Challa asks.

“I’m sending you the footage right now, but as you will see, not particularly well. I don’t know if she can go back, at least not with Ross hunting for her. Should we head towards a safe house, or is it fine for her to come to Wakanda?” Steve asks, an unusual spike of nervousness rushing through him.

“I cannot see how it would be a problem for her to be here. What is more intriguing is why you seem so interested for her to visit,” T’Challa eyes him speculatively. “I will see you when you arrive, my friend.”

Steve lets out a sigh of relief as the call ends, nodding to Natasha who promptly adjusts course. Dropping into the copilot's seat, he rubs his wrist, annoyed at the itching that had spent the better part of the afternoon building.

“Hey,” Natasha says. “You okay?”

Steve huffs out a humorless laugh.

“Well, I’ve been physically closer to her in the last two hours than I’ve been to a female in as many years, simultaneously elated at her unflappable tenacity and terrified of how close that bullet actually was, but y’know, it’s fine. Just fine.”

“It’s not like we didn’t assume it’d go poorly,” Natasha comments.

“Yeah, but that was because we figured _Darcy_ would be upset, not because Ross wanted to…” Steve cuts off as Bucky grabs the seat behind him suddenly.

“Hey, switch seats with me. She’s fuming and I’m actually a little bit scared.”

“What did you do to her?” Steve asks, glancing around Bucky to see, indeed, Darcy pacing back and forth while typing furiously on her phone.

“Nothing! I honestly didn’t say a word to her, Steve,” he replies. Steve stands, relinquishing his seat to Bucky. He catches Natasha rolling her eyes, before heading further back towards the agitated woman.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks Darcy. She stops pacing, a dark frown firmly fixed upon her face as she focuses on him. That same nervous feeling beats through him for a moment until he realizes her anger isn’t directed at him.

“This isn’t what I signed up for,” she mutters, snorting to herself as she drops into her seat. “Not that they listened. I specifically told them I couldn’t cheerlead for them and I ended up getting shot at.”

“Jane is sick with worry, since I guess it’s already making the news over there that there was _another_ altercation in Lagos, ‘do you remember what happened last time’ Lagos, since a man of Captain America’s description was seen dragging a woman quote _against her will_ unquote through the streets,” Darcy huffs a breath, and looks down at her phone for clarification. “And quote _is his fugitive status forcing him into crime rings?_ unquote. Sickening.”

Steve sighs, dropping into a seat next to hers. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

“Oh, no, the best part is how they _conveniently_ ignore how we were being chased by men with guns. And I nearly got shot. By said gunmen. That were, I’m assuming, Ross’ men since he picked my detail and coordinated everything. Like what the fuck? And I can’t tell Jane about said shots since she’d actually leave her labs and deem Tony worthy of her time to go blame. Then who the hell knows what would happen.”

Steve nods, despite not knowing anything about Foster’s temperament.

“I’m actually impressed at how well orchestrated it is. I can’t even guess how high it goes. Is Vision in on it? Is he doing his unilateral ‘I know what’s best for you’ decision making? Or did Tony just throw me to the Mew-mew wolves for giggles? No,” Darcy immediately dismisses the spoken thought. “Tony wouldn’t do that. I know that.”

Steve wants to ask where her faith in Tony comes from, but she continues on.

“So Ross, with information from Tony and Vision about some potentially devastating big bad, convinces Tony that all manner of sin will be forgiven if only we bring y’all home. Tony, in his adorable bearded naivety, realizes that he would quote _get a punch to the face_ unquote if he attempted it, sends me. Someone, to him, who he can trust. Someone, to Ross, who’s expendable. Frigga fucking Ross.”

Steve is actually a little bit impressed with her reasoning but interjects anyways.

“Not to be rude, but how do you even know Tony?” he asks. “It’s a big tower.”

Darcy finally glances at him, surprised, as if suddenly realizing he is present for her verbal musings.

“That’s not rude, that’s a reasonable question. To answer it straight, I simply don’t know. I don’t even understand it. One thing I know, I’m minding my own business, working at a bakery and scraping through my classes. The next thing I know, a building is collapsing around me, and I’m waking up to Jane in the hospital.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat, realizing that perhaps he should just rip off the bandaid and say he was there in Amsterdam and knows about her building because he pulled her out of it.

“She then packs me up for New York, and suddenly I’m in Stark Tower with Tony calling me ‘Half Pint’. I practically have whiplash from how confusing it is. What kind of nickname is Half Pint, anyways? I swear, you only hear adorable old people call their grandkids that. Ohhh, Mew-mew, I cannot wait for one of his progeny to pop out of nowhere and give him the surprise of his life. Pepper said he’s childless, but with his escapades? I’m sorry, I read the tabloids, he’s bound to have at least half a dozen little Starks out there, to the endless consternation of science teachers everywhere.”

He wonders through her musings about her reaction to him only coming on this mission because he knew she was going to be the intermediary, but she goes on before he can stumble through the thought.

“I suppose I should feel flattered he’s taken an interest in me, especially since it’s not lewd at all. With his reputation, that’s a valid concern. Although, he’s never attempted anything in my sight. And it’s humorous how little Jane cares for him, she practically hisses at him like a wet cat the moment he comes through the door to the labs to see us. Which, mind you, isn’t very often, since he gets this kicked puppy look every time he sees Banner’s workplace all empty and forlorn. But he always brings coffee, and you would think that would be a peace offering enough for Jane, right?”

Steve feels bewildered but glad he has the excuse just to stare at her. He must look bewildered as well since Darcy catches his expression and sends him an apologetic look.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I have a tendency to ramble when I have no idea what the Frigga’s going on. Ian practically ran screaming from me in the aftermath of the Dark Elves.”

Steve can hear the restrained laughter of Bucky’s from the cockpit, but he’s fairly certain Darcy can’t.

“Who’s Ian?” he asks, genuinely curious. His attention is caught by her hand pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You read the reports on the Dark Elves, right? That was before SHIELDRA fell, so I’m sure there was some sort of file floating around you about that. Ian was my intern during that escapade, but then the world was going to end and I kissed him after saving my life. It was quite a lovely end-of-the-world kiss, but it really made him realize what sort of circles I frequented and he hightailed it out of dodge. You’d have thought he would have gotten the clue after I had to get Erik out of the mental asylum, but noooo, it’s the end-of-the-world kiss. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted,” Darcy grins at him and Steve feels momentarily dumbfounded by how her face lights up. “I knew it wouldn’t last, even if we had given a relationship an honest go, he was far too squirrelly.”

Steve can practically hear Bucky’s ribs cracking.

“Anyways, it’s rather hard to hold a relationship like that too seriously, with soulmarks everywhere and whatnot. We never discussed ours, especially since we had more of a working relationship, but I knew he wasn’t my Match even if he would have claimed otherwise. Clarity was one thing my soulmark did afford. At least,” she lets out a sad quiet sigh. “I thought it did.”

As Steve processes this statement, Natasha calls out from the front. “We’re approaching, Steve. Do you want to show Darcy?”

For one panicked moment, Steve isn’t sure what Natasha is talking about. His brain is stuck on Darcy's smile, soulmarks, Matches and _what does an end-of-the-world kiss taste like_?

“Oh. Yeah. If you’re interested, Darcy?” Steve asks as he stands up.

“It’s hard to agree to something when you’re unaware of the particulars,” she replies primly. He grins.

“Trust me.”

“You keep throwing out that word, but I do not think you know what it means,” she grumbles but stands to follow him up to the front.

“Move, Buck,” Steve kicks Bucky’s seat, which prompts the man in question to stand and offer Darcy his seat with a slight little bow. Darcy flounces around him, nose high, somehow pinning him with a superior look even with him towering over her. Bucky grumbles and walks away to find another seat.

“What am I looking at?” Darcy asks as she settles into the seat.

“See that ridge in the distance?” Steve asks, leaning over the back of it to murmur in her ear. Darcy nods.

“We’re going to fly through it.”

“Through it, huh? So, Tony isn’t the only one with fancy toys?” Darcy replies. “What makes it that special?”

“Just wait and see,” Steve ignores Natasha’s slight but knowing smirk. He glances at Darcy’s face, noting the curve of her nose and the scar on her temple. He’s suddenly filled with guilt for not being honest from the beginning. He watches her pupils dilate as they approach the ridge, her senses arguing with her knowledge, and is impressed by her schooled body language. Then the blinding light as they pass through causes her pupils to constrict, as the sun shines brightly into the cockpit as the camouflage melts away. Her expression transforms into awestruck delight right before his eyes, as she takes in the city of Birnin Zana sprawling in front of them.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs.

“Welcome to Wakanda, Darcy.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy really needs another set of eyes. She’s turning in circles, looking like the most ridiculous tourist ever as she follows her companions. They had dropped the ship off at a private docking bay before climbing stairs through open gardens and Darcy is absolutely amazed.

“So this is what it’s like,” Darcy says softly to herself, stopping to look back at the view.

Steve nods to Natasha and the man she supposes is named ‘Buck’, who continue on as Steve hangs back a moment to join her.

“Come again?” he asks.

“We’re still on Earth, right? We didn’t pass through on a rainbow bridge and end up on some other realm?” Darcy asks.

“I can assure you we’re definitely still on Earth.”

“It’s _beautiful_ ,” Darcy sighs. “I wonder what their crime rate is.”

“What?” Steve asks, looking taken aback by the sudden subject change. He motions for her to continue walking with him.

“This is probably the closest I’ve ever personally seen a utopia, who knew Wakanda had such resources? But ‘the hearts of men are easily corrupted,’ so I’m sure there’s still crime,” Darcy says, falling in step with Steve, entering a large ornate building. “By the way that Jane went on about Asgard, you’d think there was none. Asgardians are a peaceful but bloodthirsty lot, and those two facts objectively contradict, right? I’m half convinced they set to conquering the Nine Realms just to keep the truly dangerous away from the general populace.”

As they are walking, they pass through a yawning hallway that heads down into a large door. Steve nods to the standing guards who then push the door open. Walking along, Darcy is studying the ornate decorations built into the architecture that she isn’t quite noticing the room that they enter. She’s finding herself rambling, trying to distract herself from Steve’s rather unsettling gazes, the confusion of the entire situation wrecking her reserve.

“I mean, Jane was wandering through Asgard with rose colored glasses. She’s going on about the views, the cheering, how pleased everyone is for their prince’s return, but she’s adorably oblivious. I’m glad she was so dazzled, but all I wanted to know was the poverty rate. The incarceration rate. Every society has its underbelly, and it’s rather telling of their culture. I love Jane, but she’s not the most socially aware person. Now, it’s my turn to see beautiful views, and I’m reminded of her and her trip to Asgard. While I’m impressed with the grandeur, I can’t help but wonder what the crime rate is since I would _guess_ it’d be low by what I’ve barely glimpsed, but we’ve known next to nothing of Wakanda for so long.”

“I think that would entirely depend on what you consider crime to be, Miss Lewis,” a new voice calls out. Darcy startles, eyes widening at the sight of a man sitting in a rather regal looking chair, and forcibly bites her tongue to avoid an expletive.

“Miss Lewis, let me introduce T’Challa, son of T’Chaka, the King of Wakanda,” Steve says.

“Hello, your, erm, Highness?” Darcy does an awkward curtsey, cheeks burning as she sees the amusement in T’Challa’s face. He quickly stands and steps over to them.

“Please, do not stand on ceremony. I understand you have had an eventful day,” he responds in a soothing voice. “And are probably in need of rest. There are rooms being prepared for you, as you are most welcome here, Miss Lewis.”

“Oh, thank you,” Darcy replies softly. Steve shoots her a disbelieving glance. Darcy isn’t exactly surprised, as she feels she’s been talking endlessly at him since being thrown in his presence but is disrupted from her long-winded speeches by the presence of a literal king. A very attractive king. _Which is stupid, I’ve been around Rogers with his soulful baby blues for ages now and not tripped up this much. And T’Challa’s royalty is not that much different from Thor,_ she thinks to herself. The damage is done, however, and she’s spiraling into humiliation.

T’Challa’s eyes dart between the two of them, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Steve is still looking at her, which only increases Darcy’s discomfort. She’s hoping anything will make this awkward silence stop. She’s suddenly very aware of how shoddy her appearance is between her windblown hair and _oh Frigga_ , her ill-fitting clothing. She hugs her arms across her chest, hoping her expression isn’t too pained and at least somewhat polite. With a curious tilt of his head, the king motions and a woman comes to his side, head bowed.

“I am glad to have met you, I hope you will find your stay here comfortable,” he says to Darcy, adding to the woman. “Please lead her to her room.”

T’Challa smiles at Darcy, which causes her to flush more and nod her head. She instantly scurries over to the woman and follows her out. After exiting the room, she lets out a huge gust of air that she didn’t realize she had been holding.

“You Americans are strange,” the woman in front of her smiles at her. “He is just a man.”

“Yep,” Darcy mutters, feeling extremely stupid.

The woman’s smile widens but she stays silent as they walk through the building. They continue through a labyrinth of corridors and anterooms, before finally coming to a room with a bronze door. After being ushered inside and instructed on how to contact the staff, the woman leaves.

Darcy flings herself back on the bed, covering her face with her hands and groaning.

 

* * *

 

A short time later, a brisk knock raps on her door, causing her to sit up from the bed with a start. She rolls off the bed, landing on all fours with a quiet _thump_ , before tiptoeing to the door and putting her ear to it.

“Darcy Lewis? I know you are there. You wanted to speak to me?”

The accent takes Darcy a moment to adjust to, but she realizes it’s Sokovian. _Wanda_.

Cracking open the door, she’s presented with a woman slightly taller than herself with dark auburn hair, wearing a dress in a style that Darcy had noticed that many of the women were sporting. She has the perfect blend of worried eyebrows and a small hopeful smile which makes Darcy relax.

“Hello,” Darcy says, stepping back. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

Darcy motions for Wanda to enter before closing the door and plopping down on the edge of her bed. Wanda strolls around the room, looking at the decor. Darcy is struck by how nervous the girl is, how young she looks, and Darcy feels the stretch of ten years like a large chasm between them.

“Spit it out,” Darcy says with a sigh. “It’s been a long day.”

Wanda jumps and knocks over a vase which tips over. A red haze wraps around it as Wanda straightens it from falling with her powers.

“Yep, very cool. Now spit it out,” Darcy repeats.

“Why did you come?” is the first question.

“Because I’m a sucker for lost causes,” Darcy replies, pulling her sweat-stained shirt away from her skin. “Ugh, gross. Do you think they have something I can wear here?”

Wanda nods at the wardrobe set in the corner of the room. Darcy walks over to it and opens the door, finding an arrangement of dresses and tunics.

“How… how are they?” Wanda’s next question surprises Darcy, and she turns to give her a strange look.

“Peachy keen, they threw me halfway across the world to say hi to you just for giggles,” Darcy sarcastically states before sighing. “Sorry, sorry, let me try that again. Vision is fine as far as I know, our one ever meeting was fortunately brief. I kind of avoid Vision, if you want me to be honest. Tony’s mucking about in things as ever. Ross is up in everyone’s ass, like, all the time, but what can you do?”

Wanda frowns.

“They didn’t ask you to bring me back?” she asks. Darcy bursts out laughing, surprising herself, a hysterical edge rising from deep below. Realizing she’d been shot at in these clothes, the shock starts to set in from the days events.

“Oh my sweet Frigga child, please tell me you know where I can get clean,” Darcy grabs random fabric from the wardrobe into a crumpled pile. “I swear to Mew-mew if I don’t get these nasty ass clothes off me in 30 seconds, I’m going to scream.”

Wanda’s eyes widen at Darcy’s dramatics and she runs over to a door that Darcy had failed to notice when entering the room, leading into a bathroom.

“Bless you, Wanda,” Darcy gasps out in delight at the giant walk-in shower stall and she immediately starts stripping. Wanda averts her eyes and works on starting the water with her powers while bringing supplies over from the sink.

“I told them multiple times I couldn’t do that. _I_ don’t want to be there, how could I convince anyone else? I told Tony, who somehow is still persuaded I’m the best person for the job. I told Pepper, and who knows why she thought I was capable of it. I told my guards, handlers really, who just glared at me like I was wasting their time,” Darcy finishes undressing, half rambling to herself, kicking the clothes into a corner.

“Fuck those guys, though. And if I never see those clothes again, it’ll be too soon,” she says. She steps into the shower, the water sluicing down her hair and face. A delighted moan escapes her. Darcy scrunches her wet hair against her scalp, the tug a mild massage, forcing her to relax away from the anxiety that had been building all day. Wanda leaves her undisturbed for the remainder of her quick shower, standing at the door thoughtfully.

After Darcy’s done, she has a towel affixed to her body as she looks through the random clothes she’d grabbed. She’s relieved that while the clothing is in unfamiliar patterns, a lightweight dress and leggings aren’t out of the realm of possibility.

“So why did you come, if you weren’t going to convince anyone?” Wanda’s previous question swings back to relevancy as she helps to fasten the back of Darcy’s chosen top.

“Because despite all of my misgivings of Ross, I’d rather warn you of Visions dreams of impending doom than not.”

Darcy turns to face Wanda.

“I’ve seen loved ones disappear into voids. I’ve seen horrible creatures appear from nothing. I know we’re just one portal away from destruction at any time. So when Vision says something is coming, he’s kind of stating the obvious. But the sheer scale of destruction he’s seeing is not just us. It’s not just Earth. It’s half the universe. It’s everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'ma have to kick it up a notch if I wanna finish before the movie comes out. It just keeps getting bigger. ><
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 6

 

In the throne room, after Darcy’s departure, T’Challa’s smirk is far too knowing for Steve’s tastes.

“Alright, T’Challa,” Steve sighs, resigned to the upcoming conversation.

“She’s,” T’Challa ponders the next word carefully with a tilt of his head, “curious.”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, scratching the back of his head, his pride rubbed a bit raw at how quickly she introverted around the other man. “Any idea how soon we can get her home?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it anytime soon, Steve,” Natasha walks in, nodding at T’Challa in greeting, who nods in return. “Ross has her face posted at every international airport in line with the Accords. If she goes back, she’s not going back home.”

“What?” Steve feels a flash of anger through him. “Why?”

“She’s wanted for questioning due to her involvement with you and the new situation in Lagos. Somehow the media got tipped of this and are running the narrative that she’s been an undercover agent at the tower, colluding with you secretly. Any suspicious incident from the past three months is being implausibly tied to both of you. Things she couldn’t have possibly been involved in, such as the blow out in Busan,” Natasha eyes T’Challa before shrugging. “Mostly because they uncovered footage from Amsterdam. They’re saying that was the start of your ‘alliance’. Ross is either instigating it or running with it. Not that either option makes a difference.”

Steve swears under his breath, agitation prompting him to pace.

“May I ask, what happened in Amsterdam?” T’Challa asks.

“I was there in October tracking down that vibranium dealer, Amossi. A dead end. Then a bus plowed into the restaurant on the other side of the building. It seemed just an unfortunate coincidence at the time, but I caused too much of a fuss with the local police to really investigate further,” Steve explains. “She was one of the people I managed to bring out before I was threatened arrest.”

“He was too busy being a hero to even recognize his Match, T’Challa,” Natasha cuts in. T’Challa’s eyebrows raise.

“Natasha,” Steve sighs. “We don’t _know_ that.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then this is a wonderful occasion! We shall have much time to get to know your Match,” T’Challa says cheerfully, turning to look over his pad.

“T’Challa, she has not confirmed anything about her soulmark. I don’t even know how I could even ask. Honestly, she’s already going to be understandably furious when she finds out that she can’t return to New York,” Steve rubs his hands over his face, muttering. “I promised her I’d find a way to get her home.”

“We will do our best, Steve. But you cannot argue that this is not a grand opportunity.”

“You were tearing at the bit to go after her when you finally figured it out, Steve,” Natasha adds. “Sure, this is more complicated, but she’s here and you can at least interact. Or just stare at her, like you did the entire way here.”

“Look,” Steve starts, pointing a finger in Natasha’s face who looks at him placidly. After a moment, he sighs, dropping his hand.

“It was fine under the parameters of the mission, but then we got on the ship, sat down and, Jesus, I don’t know what to say to her,” Steve grumbles. “Do I start with her mark? Do I just say, ‘hey, sorry, but can you happen to detail something intensely personal about yourself to me, a complete stranger’?”

“It’s not like you’d misuse the information. You’re Captain America.”

“Was. Was Captain America. I’m just a rudderless ship now,” Steve refutes. “She didn’t even _blink_ when I entered the room, Nat.”

“Is that what this is? Your bruised ego?” Natasha scoffs at him.

Steve frowns, shaking his head.

“You cannot contradict that if we _are_ Matched, she’s in far more shit than she’s realized.”

“Stop it with the excuses, Steve. She’s been in the thick of things since _before you woke up_. Thor touched down six months before SHIELD even found you in the ice. Her world has been exploding in increments ever since, on a skipping stone with Foster from one event to another,” Natasha states, the hint of frustration finally breaking through her expression. “She’ll be far safer with you than anyone else.”

With that said, Natasha turns abruptly and sails out of the room.

“I wonder if Darcy even knows she has such a champion for her,” T’Challa ponders to himself quietly. “I must admit, I need clarification on one thing. If Natasha is so certain that Darcy is your Match, how has Darcy not come to this conclusion herself? Was she not there in Amsterdam, being rescued by you?”

Steve sighs.

“It’s my fault,” he begins, explaining the situation of the particular day. “She was injured, I suspect a concussion at the time, so our whole interaction might have been completely forgotten.”

“So, if she sees this report,” T’Challa pulls up a screen with the words DANGEROUS DARCY, COLLUDING WITH THE CAPTAIN? emblazoned across it with a blurry photo from Amsterdam of Steve cradling an unconscious looking Darcy to his chest. “She will definitely figure it out. Assuming she has the matching soulmark.”

Steve swears under his breath.

“Is there any way to delay this? Let her have a breath to see what her life is probably going to be like for the upcoming weeks, in Wakanda? I already knew she was going to be livid if I told her. A Match, _her_ Match, having chosen to walk away after meeting. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of that happening. Now she’s in an unfamiliar country, certainly suspicious of all of us, and stuck for the foreseeable future. And now she has to contend with that media shitstorm? I have to tell her before she sees that. Jesus, I have to tell her,” Steve realizes aloud, resolution settling in his bones. “I actually have to demand an answer to a question I have no right to ask.”

T’Challa waves at the screen and it vanishes.

“We can restrict her wireless access to the outside world, but I do not know if I can recommend it. I can only ensure one day, maybe two, before she will realize what we are doing. I would not rely on it, Steve,” T’Challa shrugs, inputting commands into his wrist-bound device. “But I shall try nonetheless.”

“Thank you, T’Challa,” Steve clasps arms with T’Challa before saying, “I better get planning.”

 

* * *

 

“So, am I allowed to leave this room?” Darcy asks Wanda. They are sitting cross-legged on her bed as Wanda shows her a few of her more complicated tricks.

“Why wouldn’t you be able to leave?” Wanda asks, confused.

“Well, technically, I think I was kidnapped. Not that I feel very kidnapped, mind you, because when Captain America goes all Terminator with _come with me if you want to live_ essentially, you follow. Bullets had been bandied about, so I wasn’t about to argue. Regardless, I’m assuming the media is going to spin this in some sort kidnapping coup. I mean, my friend already sent me a headline of Captain America supposedly selling me to some sex slave-ring,” Darcy snickers. “But really. Being deposited in here and told ‘here’s the bell for the servants’ alludes to staying put. So, can I explore?”

“Absolutely. Steve is very particular about things like that. It is why I went and helped him in Germany,” Wanda states, uncrossing her legs and standing. “It is past dinner time if you want to go explore the dining hall.”

“Wanda, I have a feeling we’re going to be the best of friends,” Darcy smiles, getting up and tucking Wanda’s arm in her own. “Onwards!”

“How long have you been here?” Darcy asks as they stroll together down the corridor.

“We have come and gone many times, careful to not overstay the hospitality that the King has extended to us. He and his people have been very kind. But this visit has been,” Wanda pauses as she considers. “Five months? The longest stay so far.”

“Where do you go if you’re not here?” Darcy wonders aloud. “I can’t imagine there’s a lot of options.”

Wanda laughs, shaking her head.

“Perhaps that is why. Even unwelcome places have not been too concerning since my powers are helpful for avoiding unwanted attention. It _is_ draining, however, being alert for long stretches, so perhaps they are thinking of my health.”

Darcy ponders this for a moment, nodding. Wanda shows her around a corner and there’s the delicious scent of cooked food as they enter the dining hall.

It’s a rather large room, with a good selection of large and small tables with chairs. One side of the room is entirely devoted to chafing dishes, steam curling under the lights, as another side is dedicated to a rather large selection of drinks.

“Wow, it’s like a high-end Vegas buffet,” Darcy comments, impressed as they walk to a panel of platters. “What is this?”

“Berbere braised lamb,” Wanda nods at the display. “These are more of the traditional Wakandan foods you could enjoy, but they have a wide variety of cuisines at the other stations.”

“Good for them. I thought they were famously insular,” Darcy begins to fill a plate with food, suddenly ravenous.

“Traditionally, I think they are,” Wanda tilts her head in thought. “The King is pushing for change.”

They walk over to settle at a table, where Darcy immediately digs into her plate without reserve.

“What’s your favorite dish? Do they have it here?” she asks between bites.

“They do not, sadly. It is a called paprikash,” Wanda’s voice is almost wistful. “It is a Sokovian sauced chicken dish.”

Darcy eyes her new friend as she takes a bite, noting the change of tone, waiting for Wanda to continue. When she doesn’t, Darcy raises her eyebrows at her as if to ask _and?_

“Is there a favorite you’d like? They might have had it in the past if you did not see it tonight,” Wanda asks, ignoring the unspoken question. Darcy considers a moment, before snickering.

“All of my proper favorites require me to dig out my mixer from storage, but I will say that I love a good pizza,” Darcy shrugs. “Classic junk food always has a strong allure after watching the world explode around you.”

Wanda studies her for a moment, but Darcy decides to ignore it and focuses on her food instead. They pass the rest of the meal in their own thoughts, a silence falling comfortably over the both of them, to the surprise of Darcy.

“I wonder how Jane’s doing,” Darcy finishes her plate, comfortably full, and leans her head on her hand.

“Jane?” Wanda asks.

“My friend. She’s boring, like me, if it’s possible to be a boring genius. We’ve been through a lot together,” Darcy mumbles, eyelids beginning to droop. “She’s a bit scrappy.”

“Come on, Darcy. I’ll walk you back,” Wanda pats her shoulder, jolting Darcy back from the edge of sleep, and they set off after clearing their plates.

“Good night, Darcy. I am glad that you came,” Wanda says as they arrive at her door after the short walk.

“Thanks,” Darcy yawns. “G'night, Wanda.”

She enters her room and with a flick locks her door, knowing the act is pointless but makes her feel better anyway. _So tired_ , she thinks as she grabs her phone from the table to look up the time difference between New York and Wakanda. Laying down on the bed, she begins to type in her inquiry into her phone's browser when she notices there’s an alert of a message. Checking it, she realizes it was sent almost four hours previously. Feeling guilty, she opens it, seeing that it’s from Jane.

“Oh my god, Darcy, it was _him_?” is the electronic phrase looking at her from her screen.

“Huh?” Darcy mutters aloud and types in a quick reply, watching the transmission icon swirl around. Dropping the phone next to her, she closes her eyes and sighs.

The next moment she’s asleep.

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up, Darcy finds herself still fully clothed from the night before, the cover on the bed rolled over her as she twisted into it in her sleep. Groggy, she blinks at the sun streaming through her balcony door window. Untangling herself from the bed, she sits up and yawns.

Standing, she grabs her phone to put in her pocket and shuffles into some shoes before leaving her bedroom. Autopilot takes her to the only place she knows, the dining hall. She isn’t disturbed on her way there and immediately finds a mug through tired eyes after arriving.

“Good morning, Darcy,” a voice says to her, and she squints at the man who appears next to her.

“No. Coffee.”

The brunette gently touches her shoulder, pointing her body in the direction of the carafe before giving her a little nudge. The motion with the promising smell of coffee brings her to her first cup of the day, which she takes a sip of indulgently.

“Oh Mew-mew, it has been too long,” Darcy whispers to herself, the taste playing on her tongue like ambrosia. “And I will give whoever made this many, many babies.”

“They don’t have coffee at the Tower?” the man asks, a respectful distance from her. She turns to look at him, squinting again, and realizes it is the face of the same man from the ship who went through her bag and phone.

“Oh, hi Buckster,” Darcy mumbles out the thoughtless nickname. “Here for my lunch money?”

“What?”

“Never mind. What’s up?” Darcy replies, shuffling over to a table to sit at. He follows, perching his form on the edge of the opposite seat she takes.

“I was wondering if you’d want to look around a bit. Wanda mentioned you weren’t sure where you could go, which is pretty much everywhere, but she didn’t want you to get lost,” he says. “And it’s ‘Bucky’ actually. Or James. James would work.”

“Sure thing, Jimbo,” Darcy says into her coffee mug before she tips more back. She lets the heated liquid roll around on her tongue before swallowing. _Seriously, what is this made with? Unicorn tears?_

He lets out an aggrieved sigh.

“You’re going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you,” he states. “I should have known.”

Darcy sets her empty mug down, rubs her burning, three-day-contacts eyes, and then shakes herself properly awake for the first time. Opening her eyes, she looks at Bucky and takes in his appearance properly.

“Oh, fuck, it’s you,” she says as she processes the fact that he’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, unlike the previous day's dark jacket, and she can see his _fucking metal arm_.

He smirks.

That smirk, combined with the jet-lagged early morning, utterly demolishes Darcy’s impulse control. Her hand reaches over and flicks his nose before her brain can even process what she’s doing.

“Goddamnit, Lewis!”

“Don’t be arrogant, Buckster, it’s too early.”

He rubs his nose, more annoyed than injured by any means, grumbling.

“It’s literally noon,” he points out. Darcy blinks.

“Yeah, sure, but that’s what, five a.m. for me? More coffee, Jimbo,” Darcy thrusts her mug in his metal hand and motions to the carafe. She then pulls out her phone, effectively dismissing him. He sighs before getting up and walking away.

Darcy looks at her phone, bemoaning the low battery alert and swiping it awake. There, from last night, is the chat window with Jane. Message failed, try again? glares at her outgoing text from the screen. Frowning, she presses for it to attempt again. Tilting her head, she does seem to have some sort of reception here, but it seems to be hiccuping over something.

Bucky sets the refilled mug in front of her, dropping back down in his previous seat. Darcy sticks her phone back in her pocket, suspicion building in her stomach, but pushes it down.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re nearly as scary as you think you are,” Darcy states, eyeing the somehow still open breakfast bar. “No danish?”

Bucky rolls his eyes before standing to get her a cheese danish.

“Thank you,” she says, preening, as he returns. “So, what are the must-see sights of Wakanda?”

 

* * *

 

Steve can hear the delighted squeals of Darcy from literally a mile away. Sure, super hearing doesn’t hurt, but the baby rhinoceroses were ‘that adorable’. He heads that direction, the rhinoceros pens, unable to resist cataloging her reactions.

“Do you think if I convinced Tony, he’d fund my Teacup Rhino fund?” Steve hears Darcy ask Bucky right as he arrives. “We could unite it with the Puppy-Sized Elephants fund.”

She kneels at the edge of a pen with her arm outstretched through the fence with a trainer-approved treat for a young rhinoceros, trying to coax it near. Darcy doesn’t see the flinch Bucky is unable to contain when he hears Stark’s name.

“Maybe if you asked nicely,” Bucky replies shortly. He shakes his head imperceptibly at Steve’s approach and Steve settles around the corner out of Darcy’s sight. Apart from the three of them, the large room is empty of people.

Darcy snorts derisively, then sounds chagrined as she murmurs, “oh, little rhino, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, look, food!”

“His name is Nandu,” Bucky supplies.

This sets Darcy on a cooing percussion of the rhinoceros’ name, smiling as the rhinoceros eventually edges closer. Nandu sniffs her hand and snags the treat from her before running away. She sighs in contentment.

“I think I’d have more luck getting Tony sloshed or just forging his signature,” Darcy states, staring into the pen at the rhinoceros enjoying his spoils. “Then again, he might have a research division for such things already, just for shits and giggles.”

“Do you, ah, know him well?” Bucky asks to Steve’s surprise. Steve usually avoids bringing up Tony, not wanting to backslide on the progress Bucky had made. Darcy looks up at Bucky with a quizzical expression.

“Is this a Darcy question or a Tony question?” she responds. Bucky manages to hold a stolid expression this time, but Darcy’s head tilts in curiosity.

“He’s around. It’s his Tower, isn’t it? He has a right to know who’s occupying it,” she says blandly. “Have you met him?”

Steve starts to step around the corner to interject when Bucky motions a microscopic ‘no’ at Steve. Steve freezes a moment, then steps back.

“Briefly. It didn’t go well,” is his cryptic response. Darcy bursts out into a cackle, startling Steve.

“Has any of his introductions gone well? Like, I’m coming into the Tower for the first time, right? Jane has a room there, I’m high as a kite from painkillers and a Frigga awful flight due to an injury I got while out of the country. We are _almost_ to her room where I can just lay down and surrender to oblivion when the elevator door opens and he steps in. He takes one look at me, asks ‘who’s the Half Pint, Foster?’ like I’m fucking Laura Ingalls Wilder and insists on following us to Jane’s room. He _wouldn’t leave_. I’m oblivious to half of it, I just know there’s a couch and that’s good enough for me, but noooo, he starts yelling at FRIDAY about why don’t I have my own apartment - which is allocated to me next door, instantly, by the way - and sets to fluffing my pillow. Jane was about to get a sledgehammer, I swear to Odin, and you haven’t seen terror until a hundred-ten-pound-when-soaking-wet scientist goes at you with a sledgehammer half her size.”

Darcy says this all in one long breath, voice tinged with amusement. Bucky listens with a grave expression. Steve’s heart is stinging, imagining the scene perfectly. For all of their disagreements, Tony _had been_ his friend. And his friend had been irritatingly generous when he put his mind to it.

“I don’t think I’ve met a single person who thinks of good stories to tell of Tony. Well, maybe Rhodes and Pepper, but I still feel like I kind of have to tip that scale in his favor, y’know? He seems to go around offending everyone with that superiority complex, but it’s just a front. Where did you meet him?”

This conversation is testing Steve’s resolve, every inch of him wanting to come out and deflect this conversation for his oldest friend. But Bucky isn’t giving him any signal. Darcy is completely oblivious to the potential conversational minefield that Steve wants to stop before it’s too late.

“Siberia,” Bucky states.

“Well, shit,” Darcy replies. Steve wishes he could see her expression. Her voice sounds surprised but suddenly wary.

“I murdered his parents,” Bucky declares, looking rather pained.

“In Siberia?” she asks without missing a beat. The question visibly jars Bucky, who obviously was expecting a different reaction.

“...no?” he responds, his confusion breaking through his stoic expression.

Darcy folds her arms, assessing Bucky.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but I don’t believe it,” she states. Bucky barks out an acerbic laugh.

“What’s not to believe? If you recognize this arm, you know what I’m capable of.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t capable, I said I don’t believe _you_ did it. And how would Tony have found out in Siberia? Why were you guys even there?” she asks.

“Does it matter? Just… we’re all in this godforsaken bunker, expecting the worst possible enemy, and Stark strolls into the situation with all this swagger,” he breaks off, before pressing on. “That went FUBAR as soon as we figured out that the enemy we were expecting wasn’t a _people_. It was information, the information that lets Howard’s son connect the dots of Steve hiding the coerced sins of his oldest friend. If Steve hadn’t literally just sacrificed all his other friends for us to even go there, I would have probably let Stark do his worst.”

Darcy remains silent as Bucky seems to grapple with his thoughts.

“And the worst part of it is that he asks me, _do you even remember them,_ and I can’t forget them if I wanted to. I remember the surprise in Howard’s face when he saw me for the first time in forty years, until it slowly drained into acceptance, realizing who I must be if I was still alive. I remember the calls of his wife, begging for him. And the moment they both…” Bucky’s voice stops.

“I’m not arguing against how horrifying it is. I’m arguing that _you_ didn’t do it,” Darcy’s voice is flat. “And it’s not like they were _my_ parents, so I’m not emotionally compromised. I’ve seen evil, true evil, and how it’s injected into people, good or otherwise. How’d you do it then, Bucky? How’d you murder the great Howard Stark?”

Bucky pauses a moment, glancing at Steve’s hiding spot. They haven’t discussed Siberia, or anything related, as their friendship has always been of a nature that words weren't usually necessary. Steve wonders at this moment if that was a mistake.

“I… I think I punched him?” Bucky whispers. “Like, I know I did, but I think I did?”

“Oh sweet merciful Frigga, that’s not how murders work,” Darcy declares, throwing up her hands.

“True psychopathic murderers take  _weeks_  to prepare. They barely sleep to track of their victims, they eat sporadically because there’s no time. The kill is their sustenance. They chew on the high of their victims fear, the pain, the moment when their prey is slightly edged by their own cruel hands into the next world. They’re not agents given a folder with the prepared particulars, who carry it out so _ruthlessly and efficiently_ that there’s minimal pain. They’re not people who can barely stand to remember the details, because the guilt is too great, knowing what their own hands have done without their permission.”

“I killed them,” Bucky states. “And so many others who didn’t deserve to die.”

“Did you want to?” Darcy asks, placing her hands on her hips.

Bucky is silent for a long moment, avoiding eye contact by staring into the pen.

“No,” he finally states.

“Exactly my point,” she shrugs.

“I still hate myself though.”

The admission causes Steve to grimace from his spot.

Darcy shakes her head, obviously frustrated, before turning to walk out of the pen with a bitter comment.

“Fine, hate yourself. I’m sure you’re not wrong about Tony being on that Bucky hating train too. It’ll be very useful for Loki when he opens the portals of destruction right to our door, keeping us all at odds with each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo that happened.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Darcy is almost back to her room when she rounds a corner and nearly runs right into someone. He raises his hands as if in surrender and she frowns at him.

“You’re not Wakandan,” he says in an American accent.

“Neither are you,” she guesses, taking a step to the side, already done with the conversation.

“Actually true. Sam Wilson, ma’am,” he sticks out his hand.

“Oh, a-Frigga-nother one,” Darcy grumbles and tries to take that step around him. His arm shoots out to stop her.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s the hurry? Who are you?” he asks.

“Idgie Threadgoode,” she tries to bypass around his arm. “For the love of Odin, I need a computer, like yesterday.”

“ _Fried Green Tomatoes_ , huh? Okay, Idgie, let’s see if we can find you a computer,” Sam says in a soothing voice, causing her to stop.

“Oh, thank Mew-mew, they actually exist here?” she asks sarcastically. Sam gives her an unimpressed look before motioning to her the direction he was walking.

“I have a computer in my room if you don’t mind. I just got back from, er, travels and haven’t had a chance to clean myself up. The technology is rather specific around here, so I asked for a laptop a while back since they’re all fancy with their touchpads here. Or holopads. Whatever they’re called,” he shrugs. “What actually is your name?”

“Darcy.”

“When did you arrive? It’s not too often we get visitors here,” he smiles reassuringly. “Especially ones who challenge my knowledge of classic 90s films.”

“Yesterday, I think,” Darcy shrugs. Her concept of time is skewed considering the jetlag and all.

Sam seems to catalog this information and continues down the hall.

They arrive at his room and she observes the ordered studio apartment as they enter, before spying a laptop in the corner and springing over to it.

“Okay. What do you need a computer for, anyway?” he asks, following her as she immediately sets to opening and turning it on.

“Kittens,” she replies shortly.

“Kittens?” he repeats back at her.

“Fluffy, smushed face, prowling little kittens,” she clicks on a browser and pulls up a video website, finding the first kitten compilation video she can find. It isn’t really what she wants at the moment, but it seems like a good distraction as any from the depressing information she just found out until she can find a moment alone.

“I’ve had a really, really, _really_ weird 24 hours. Kittens help.”

“Fair enough. I guess I’ll leave you to it? I need to hit the shower,” Sam says, shrugging. Darcy can see he obviously wants to ask more, but she ignores it. He exits through an adjoining door.

As soon as the door closes, she’s pulling the computer into her lap and hitting the button for an incognito window on the browser. Her eyes dart to the door Sam exited through, and she pulls up the messaging service that Jane and her use. Putting in her details and hitting enter, logging in is instant, which just makes her stomach sour at the thought that her phone is indeed being blocked.

There are multiple messages waiting for her, and she starts with the ones she’d missed from Jane the last conversation, realizing that they’d been cut off right around the time she assumes she arrived in Wakanda.

_Oh my god, Darcy, it was him?_   
_Darcy?_   
_I swear on Pepper’s fabulous heels that if you do not contact me in the next ten minutes, I’m going to Tony._

“Fuck, Janey, you think Tony can help with this?” Darcy mutters under her breath, “but I guess you don’t have a lot of options.”

**Jane? Please, don’t be in science, I don’t know how much time I have to talk.**

Darcy types in the message, aware of how dramatic she sounds but unable to sugarcoat the situation.

_Darcy? Thank god. Where are you? Are you safe?_

**Wakanda. I’m unharmed. Did you talk to Tony?**

_I had to threaten FRIDAY with science to let me in to see him, but Pepper was there, so don’t worry, I didn’t maim him._

**My phone is bricked, so I had to sneak onto a computer. I don’t know if I’ll get another opportunity. What’s happening?**

_The press has shifted from kidnapping to collusion, Darcy. Ross wants you for questioning about Lagos_.

**What? After he signed off on sending me there and then had his men attempt to kill me? What could he possibly think I know?**

_Everything new about the tower? Us? I don’t know, they seem to think you have your fingers in a lot of secret pies, Darcy. Tony is furious about it. He and Pepper are trying to work out a solution to bring you back, though, even if it seems kind of hopeless considering the rhetoric the media is running with right now._

**How the Frigga could I have told Rogers anything if I’ve never met the man before now? When I didn’t even know he was going to be there in Lagos? It doesn’t make any sense, Jane.**

_Check the news, Darcy. Don’t freak out._

Darcy opens another tab, switching towards an aggregate news site and gasps at the trending stories.

The first result on the screen, amid a bouquet of clickbaity headlines, is a distant photo of her mostly unconscious form being cradled by an undeniably dirty, bearded Steve Rogers, expression fierce.

A roaring sound swirls as blood rushes to her eardrums, a giant swooping feeling rising up to her throat and then crashing down to her toes then back up again, over and over, leaving her frozen. Steve was her Match?

“No. That doesn’t make sense. What? No. _No_. His name was Grant!” she begins to whisper to herself, grabbing her ears and shaking her head. It doesn’t make sense, _it doesn’t make sense._

But it does make sense. The strength. How he sneaked into the building multiple times. Why he left before they could take his name, beard somehow keeping him anonymous at the time even with his notoriety. _Why he didn’t stay._ Her brain supplies his full name, a thought that hadn’t occurred to her until she was slapped in the face with it. Captain Steven _Grant_ Rogers.

Darcy isn’t sure how long she sits there, staring through the screen in shock. Eventually, she startles, hearing Sam thump against something in the other room. Switching back to her tab with Jane, she sees new messages.

_Darcy?_   
_I didn’t believe it, but Pepper assured me that it was him. She’d been investigating about Amsterdam ever since the New Years party. She told me she wasn’t sure if you met anyone else that day, or she would have come to you with the information herself._   
_What did he say? Does he have the mark too? Or Timer, whatever._   
_Darcy?_

**I have to go. Love you** Jane **.**

Darcy immediately closes out of the window, being presented again with kittens. Her mind is in such disarray that she looks up with wide, alarmed eyes when Sam comes back into the room. He’s freshly cleaned and dressed, rubbing a hand towel on his neck.

“Darcy?” he asks, startling her. “Kittens all that you hoped for?”

“Yep. Thanks,” Darcy flashes a strained smile, jumping on her feet too eagerly and nearly knocking over the chair. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Sam looks concerned.

“You sure? I’ve got some time. We could go scrounge up some food, or maybe watch a movie. I’m sure we could find _Steel Magnolias_.”

“Nah, maybe next time,” Darcy is already crossing the room, keeping her sentences short. “Thanks again.”

She nods in farewell but catches a glimpse of him putting a phone to his ear as she closes the door. _Fuck._ Nothing to do about it now.

Fortunately, the return to her room is uneventful. Dashing inside, she closes and locks her door, sliding down to the ground against it. Thoughts are pinging around in her head, mulling over every awful possibility.

_How did this happen? There’s no way in hell he's my Match. Mom was right. She tried to warn me. Dad left his Match, and I am my mother’s true daughter. Meet, but it’s wrong. There are no happily ever_ _afters. Just disappointment. She tried so hard to temper my expectations. Why didn’t I listen to her?_

The problem with soulmarks is that no one really understood how they worked. You were either Matched or ‘not yet.’ There were cases of Matched pairs living long and happy lives and then passing within days of each other. Then there were the cases of Matches being denied and disappointment manifesting grimly, sometimes with someone ending up dead. The Matchless were an understandably silent group, as the centuries of folk tales pushing superstition had vilified them, that same superstition hobbling the scientific research that was still struggling to break through. After the hunts in the 17th century, though, people would usually claim a mark even if they didn’t actually have one. It became a necessary habit for so long that it was rare to find someone who’d admit otherwise, since there was no way to _prove_ someone's mark, let alone it’s status. At a certain age, usually later midlife, people generally assumed that you were most likely Matchless due to death.

So while she had had a day to look forward to, the moment she’d woken up alone and essentially Matchless, a fear had grown in her that perhaps Lewis women just weren’t worth it.

_At least there isn’t a kid to worry about._

Darcy remembers the looks from judgmental people all too well, snubbing her nineteen-year-old mom for having a baby born out of matchlock. _Nevermind_ her mom couldn’t exactly traipse around the country looking for a guy who had simply disappeared. _Nevermind_ that it wasn’t the 1950s anymore and only the most judgmental of them cared.

Regardless, she had gone to bed on October 7th, expecting a fantastic Match-Day. She’d cleared her schedule for that fated October 8th Sunday, had planned to pamper herself getting up early and taking her time with her hair and makeup. There was a little sundress she had specifically bought for the day, a sassy red polka dot number that she felt fabulous in. She would be _ready_ to meet her Match, parading around the city doing all the touristy things she hadn’t had a chance to do. Perhaps she’d meet her Match while waiting in queue to rent a bicycle? Or maybe when she was on the ferry? It was going to be her first time to the Hermitage, perhaps she’d meet her Match there?

Her expectations for her Match had been reasonable, she thinks. He (or even she?) could be a tourist as well, or maybe European with an adorable accent. Possibly have a career in something safe like teaching or business, as far away from labs and explosions since she brought enough of that to the table all by herself. He’d have moderate good looks, maybe need a bit of help with choosing a more flattering hairstyle or something, but still attractive enough to keep things interesting. Although, even if he’d been ugly, the supposed joy of fully bonding with your Match was indescribable.

But then all she remembers was waking up to dust and darkness and blue eyes and a smooth _ma’am_.

The worst part of it, she realizes, it explains so much. Why her mark was blurry for so long until one day in October 2011, glaring at her as a deep black and crisp for the first time. She vaguely remembers the news around that time, declaring the impossible task of recovering Captain Rogers from the Arctic, the fabled World War II hero.

It explained why her wrist has been itching every time he touched her, and _oh Frigga_ , why his expression went so strange at her facetious mention of bonding with Wanda. She can explain away her attraction to him, he _is_ very pretty, but she cannot explain away that hanging moment where she felt so vulnerable to his piercing stare without assuming it’s related to her soulmark.

She bangs her head back against the door, closing her eyes. _What an embarrassment._

Because, really, Darcy’s nothing. She’s a short little twerp who has ridden Jane’s coat tails since she realized they had shared experiences that bound them together like sisters. If Thor hadn’t touched down, she would have finished her 6 credits, said ‘thanks, boss lady, for all the fish,’ and gone back home without a single concern.

A new thought suddenly streaks through her, causing her to sit up.

_This is why my phone is blocked. They are hiding this from me. Why?_

Darcy struggles to her feet, rushing to her bag to find her phone charger. Finding an outlet, she plugs it into her phone, a sigh escaping her as it chirps it’s charging sound. There’s still no messages making it through, despite the service it says she has. She closes her eyes and takes a moment to breathe very slowly in and out.

_They must suspect my mark is a Timer for October 8th. They suspect that because, why? I couldn’t have been the only person he met that day. But all of these actions point to him confirming a similar Timer. That fits with the strange magnetism my mark is giving me, that all those poems and songs talk about. Fuck._

_But they want me to be ignorant. Because if I shared his Timer, I would only have him as an option. The Timer, the day, he would have had to tell them. They don’t have any way to confirm this, except me. They have no idea of how horrifying that day was for me. Either way, it probably means I can’t go home. Oh, Odin, did Jane confirm it to Pepper? Did Ross find out? Is this why all of the media rabble? Is Ross chomping at the bit to get a Match of their fallen golden boy to bring him home to heel?_

The thought makes her bark out a hysterical laugh.

_Like he’d want me._

 

* * *

 

  
“So, who’s Darcy?” Sam’s question is the first words Steve hears when he picks up his phone on his run. He had to burn energy, _move_ , so a run was the only option for him. That conversation between Bucky and Darcy had rubbed him raw, and he wasn’t even a part of it.

“Jesus, Sam, are you even back yet? How’d you know she was here?” Steve asks, puffing breath as he comes to a stop.

“I ran into her in the hallway on the way to my room. I figured she was meant to be here if she was running around without an escort. Who is she?” Sam repeats. Steve looks at his surroundings of the dark jungle, realizing that this conversation isn’t going to be avoided.

“We picked her up in Lagos.”

“Why on earth would you guys go back to Lagos?”

“There was a tip for a meet up with a message for Wanda, from Vision. Which is true, Darcy did have a message. But she, ignorantly as far as we can tell, was also an attempt to smoke us out,” Steve explains, turning around to head back to the building.

“Well, yeah, that's obvious, I'm surprised you even bothered. Tony could just call you like a regular person. You even sent him that phone for it,” Sam replies.

“Sam, Tony’s not going to use that phone unless the city is literally crumbling to pieces around him.”

“Why send her though? Is she dangerous?” Sam asks.

“Jesus, no. Unless you count dissecting uncomfortable truths around her occasionally, she’s pretty tame,” Steve shrugs even if he knows Sam can’t see it.

“Powers?” is the next inquiry.

“None that we know of. SHIELDs file on her was pretty bare, to be honest, and she’s kept a low profile since those interactions. She knows Thor, for what it’s worth,” Steve’s brow wrinkles as he thinks about it.

“So you’re telling me that Tony sent a five-foot _unenhanced_ woman with some of Ross’ men to give Wanda a message.”

Steve sighs, pausing in front of the gate where there’s still relative privacy, waiting for Sams next obvious question.

“Why exactly did you go again?” Sam asks again.

“There’s a strong possibility she’s my Match.”

Sam lets out a low whistle Steve can hear over the line.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs again, finally entering the grounds, heading towards his office.

“Shit, Steve, I didn’t even realize you had one still. I thought Agent Carter…” Sam breaks off.

“Jesus, no. She was the one who buried the information of my unusual mark in my file since I told Erskine about it right before the serum. And while we may have enjoyed our time together, we knew we weren’t Matched,” Steve explains, a forlorn feeling settling over him. “So I am glad how full Peggy’s life was, later, with her Match and family.”

“But you said a strong possibility. You haven’t…?” there’s a pause as Sam ponders his thought. “I mean, she didn’t look particularly in a good way when I saw her earlier, but I wasn’t about to push when I know literally nothing about her. Does she know?”

Steve frowns.

“Assuming she has the same mark like me, a Timer incidentally, she’d have been looking forward to the day as much as I used to,” Steve ponders aloud to himself. “If the numbers hadn’t faded to nothing after the serum, I would have probably been a nervous wreck on that day.”

“You didn’t _realize it at the time_?” Sam sounds incredulous. “How do you even manage that? Didn’t she say something? My man, your details are _seriously_ lacking right now, I shouldn’t have to pull these questions out of you like a dentist!”

“Well, the media’s managed to pick up pictures of the day, if you’re so curious. But really, she was injured and lasted a four minute conversation before passing out. We were a little concerned about getting her to safety than chatting about the importance of a random October Sunday!” Steve hisses into the phone, grateful that his office is in sight for him to get some relative privacy with this conversation.

Sam sighs over the line.

“Dude, I don’t know her. I can’t speak for more than the thirty second conversation I had with her. But damn it, Steve, you need to talk to her _right now_. There have been studies put out in even the last year of the effects of delayed bonding, and if you want to let her go, then you need to do it _now_ instead of prolonging it and possibly fucking everything up.”

“Delayed bonding? What?” Steve is completely baffled by the terminology, quickly entering his office for him to lock himself into. “Slow down, what is that?”

“Your ‘40s is showing, Rogers,” is Sams annoyed response. “I can pull all sorts of scientific studies for you later, but it’s not healthy to deny a bond. There are obvious outliers, of course, but there’s also crazy statistics where the researchers surveyed older to elderly Matchless folks for years and found something like a thirty percent increase in all manner of debilitating illnesses. Cancer, early onset Alzheimer's, dementia, osteoporosis, you name it, it’s increased for them. The most common theme amongst them all, during the interviews, were the words ‘regret’ and ‘guilt’. It _literally_ manifests itself in their body, punishing them.”

“Jesus, Sam,” Steve breathes out in dismay. “But what if they died before they could meet their Match?”

“Well, those folks don’t have anything to regret, do they? It’s not like they could change someone’s actions to keep them from dying before they meet them.”

“And if they have met them, but their Match isn’t theirs?” Steve asks, thinking of Natasha, concerned.

“What? Steve, there are always outliers. But if I had to guess from the very unusual cases, they’ve built up a sort of immunity to the disappointment. Otherwise, well,” Sam trails off, before sighing. “I’d be screwed.”

Steve grimaces, childishly wishing for a moment for the ‘40s when it just wasn’t spoken of.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he mutters. “I really shouldn’t have…”

“What, asked normal questions when people talk about soulmarks? Steve, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about my lack of mark is that damning people who ask questions doesn’t help anything. Stop worrying about being ‘rude’ and just be honest,” Sam’s voice is firm.

“My ma didn’t have a mark. She only agreed to date my dad when she found out his Match had died as a teenager. But then he died in the Great War and she died nearly 20 years later. He died young, and she fought like hell. There’s something to be said about the sheer tenacity of will, Sam.”

“I’m banking on that, really. As I don’t have one, I don’t have anything to regret, though, so that may make the difference. So, you’re going to Darcy with your suspicions when?”

Steve feels the fluttery rush of nervousness but responds in a firm voice.

“As soon as I can.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Darcy is sitting on the floor next to her charging phone, head on her knees, still fairly dazed.

She feels like she should be crying.

Instead, her eyes are dry and there’s a comfortable numbness settling into her bones.

_I have to act normal. Just pretend I don’t know anything. It shouldn’t be hard, this whole situation beggars belief as it is. There’s no way in hell men like that Match with inconsequential nobodies like me. I’d be the biggest disappointment ever, even if he impossibly does have my Timer._

But it’s not like any other option makes sense. They wouldn’t bother hiding anything from her if they didn’t suspect her to share his mark. They’d be like ‘hey, look at the funny news, didja know you met like a couple of months ago? What a coincidence!’

They must be _really_ worried about how she will react.

Considering how her brain has been tripping over the concept for the last half hour, perhaps they’re not wrong.

_How am I supposed to look him in the face knowing he’s my Match? Well, there’s the first thing to go, not to call him that. He’s just… ‘him’. Okay, so he’s just ‘him’, boiled down in all his glory to three little inconsequential letters._

Seems like as good as a start as any.

_So they’re keeping me for… what? Right, Ross is an asshole. No way can I leave. God, all I want is to see Jane. No, don’t think about Jane. Oh Odin, is that why ‘him’ and Natasha came to the meet? This can’t be the first time they’ve gotten wind of messengers for their rag-tag team, but it’s the first time they’ve actually come out. Because it was me? A potential Match?_

She tamps down on the flutter of flattery that breezes through her.

_Fuck, does Tony even realize? I can’t imagine Tony would have sent me at the possibility of actually meeting ‘him’. Especially after what Bucky said about their last interaction. Mighty Mew-mew, no wonder their team completely cracked apart, if that is all true. Siberia sounds like it was a complete shit show of emotions that they really have no idea how to handle. It’s amazing that someone didn’t end up dead._

Darcy is distracting herself, thinking of Siberia and having trouble piecing together what could have happened. Tony had never spoken of it. She only knows about it because she saw a report about picking him up there, but it was low on details with heavy-handed redactions. As far as she previously knew, the day had ended with everyone at the airport in Germany being transported to their respective hospitals or prisons.

But no, Tony must have gone there later after the two who had escaped, riding the pain of Rhodes’ injuries, stumbling into a bad situation that he inevitably turned worse. Then dragged himself home, somehow avoiding Ross’ wrath.

There’s a knock at her door.

_Fuck._

Darcy has to get up and answer that door. It’s not like they wouldn’t know if she was anywhere else.

“Just… just a minute!” she calls, voice cracking.

_Fuck._

She really doesn’t want to answer it.

Darcy forces herself to get up anyways, walks over to the door, pausing to take a deep breath, then unlocks and cracks the door open.

“Hey Darcy,” Natasha form is on the other side of the door. “Have a minute?”

“Sure,” Darcy says. She pushes the door open to let Natasha inside, but the blonde woman shakes her head.

“No, not me, I’m just the messenger. Steve needs to talk to you,” Natasha motions Darcy to follow her.

Darcy feels anxiety spike her in the chest and looks away.

Natasha’s eyes narrow imperceptibly. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The walk through the building is quiet, Darcy fiddling with the hem of her dress and Natasha sending her glances that Darcy chooses to ignore.

“Here we are.”

The area seems to be in a more impersonal area of the building, the door giving no hints as to what is inside. Darcy swallows, a slow tide of dread rising up from the bottom of her stomach.

“Hey,” Natasha turns to Darcy, finally deciding to say something. “Something up?”

“No. Unless you count feeling like a wayward schoolgirl being sent to the headmaster's office.”

Natasha seems to consider the statement before knocking on the door. She waits a beat of a moment before opening it, pushing Darcy through, and closing it.

“Well, bye then,” Darcy mutters to the door before turning.

The office isn’t very large but has a giant window on the opposite side, which showcases a dark wild overgrowth of the outside. In front of it is Steve, wearing a brooding expression with hooded eyes, sitting behind a desk completely bare of items.

_Fuck._

She isn’t expecting a splinter of desire to wedge in between her gut and her throat, interrupting the anxiety that’s coursing through her. She is painfully aware of just how _male_ he is, quiet form of impressive muscles and rugged features. It’s really not helping her ignore the fact that if she had met him under better circumstances the first time, they’d have possibly had a slightly higher chance of working out. That maybe she would have been witty and sophisticated and _attractive_ , not belligerent and unrefined and now a potential enemy.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Darcy asks, amazed the words come out as strongly as they do. At that moment, with his inscrutable expression, she throws out her fear. There’s no option for flight, being unusually cornered in this faraway country, so she grits down to fight, knowing that she _can_ do this. She _will_ do this.

Seizing the madness taking her over, she saunters to the chair in front of his desk, dropping into it with a nonchalant air.

“Did you know about Siberia before?” he asks, surprising her. She expected him to bring up pretty much anything else.

“Before what?” she responds slowly, expression turning wary.

“Before Bucky summarized it for you this afternoon.”

She blinks a moment, before scowling. _Of course._

“I swear, you can take the soldier out of SHIELD but not the SHIELD out of the soldier,” she bites out, the rush of anger actually welcomed at this moment. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” he replies.

_So that’s how it’s going to be, fine._

“I only know that Tony was picked up there sometime after your hootenanny in Germany. The report wasn’t very detailed,” she states icily. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says, looking down at his hands. “I don’t know what you were trying to prove, discussing anything about it with him, but Bucky’s been under the close watch of the doctors and therapists here, and they won’t tolerate any sort of outside influence to make him slip or…”

“Excuse me?” Darcy screeches indignantly.

“...or attempts to subvert what he’s tried so hard to accomplish here,” Steve finishes, eyes flashing.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” she practically growls the words, spine stiff, and very tempted to throw up her hand in a mock salute. Somehow, she refrains.

He sighs, looking down. The moment hangs. Darcy’s breathing in and out angrily through her nose, completely forgetting her earlier anxiety. She’s far too angry at the insinuation of her being planted to upset whatever equilibrium they had managed here.

_How dare he. Bucky brought up Tony and Siberia, I had no idea any of that happened, but you have to castigate me? Why not scold your friend if you’re so worried he’ll go down rabbit holes he’s not able to handle?_

“So when can I go home?” Darcy asks, tired of waiting for Steve to get his thoughts in order, and actually interested in how he’s going to spin the situation. Instantly, Steve looks up, alarmed, and adjusts in his seat. “It’s obvious that all I’m doing is upsetting the apple cart here, so what’s the plan?”

Her eyes are narrowed at him.

“Did you know that Thor talked about you?” he begins with, confusing Darcy.

“He’s my shield-bro, of course he talked about me,” she responds, still suspicious, not sure where he’s leading the conversation.

“At the time, I was surprised at how proudly he’d proclaim you ‘felling him with a lightning stick’ but now I’m not actually so perplexed about it. You’re a bit of a firecracker, Darcy.”

Darcy’s whole face contorts into a befuddled frown.

“The Frigga fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“While you have admirable qualities, you’re obviously quite resourceful and… pretty…” he grinds out the admission like it pains him. “I don’t know what you exactly expected to accomplish here with whatever Tony has told you, but you’re obviously in way over your head.”

“I’m sorry, does it seem like I’m on a pro-Tony brigade here? I haven’t spoken to him since I left, I wouldn’t have even discussed him if your buddy hadn’t brought him up!” she retorts, eyes flashing, her ego smarting at the aversion in Steve’s expression.

“Well, your connections make you look suspicious. Thor hasn’t been seen in years, and I don’t know who, or what, you’ve been exposed to. Perhaps even coerced into.”

Darcy goes completely silent at this, face flushed in anger.

“Despite all this, I used to wonder what sort of person you’d be,” he says. “What sort of person would Match with someone as old as I expected to be. Or am, I suppose.”

This is the moment, Darcy realizes, that if she hadn’t just discovered all sorts of painful truths about her mark and subsequent Match, she’d be massively confused. As it is, she’s still confused, because he’s jumped from accusing her of attempting to trigger a murderous rampage of his ex-assassin best friend, to having ‘admirable qualities’ in a completely disinterested tone, to being easily influenced by _Tony_ of all people, to declaring their potential Match.

So when she chokes out a confused, “pardon?” it’s fortunately genuine. He’s looking at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, which only pisses her off more since _it’s too late for that_.

“I used to wonder why I had such a long Timer. Have you ever heard of a Timer being almost a hundred years, Darcy? But between the serum and the sleep, it adds up, I suppose.”

“You suppose a lot,” she holds her anger and confusion close, bitterness biting through her words.

Steve looks at her like he’s waiting for something, impassive at her anger, almost like he expects it. _Asshole._

“It was so long I didn’t even know when it ran out, Darcy. I am sorry about that,” he says dismally. “But considering the circumstances…”

_He’s not interested. He looks like I’m about to declare him my Match and drag him reluctantly to the altar like a conniving 1800s debutante. So, of course, he’s breaking up the Match before even confirming it. I knew he wouldn’t - didn’t - **doesn’t** want me. Especially if he thinks I want to burn down his world._

“Why are you apologizing?” she asks flatly.

Steve blinks a moment, surprised by the question.

“For not coming to the hospital after meeting you,” he slowly speaks, words deliberate.

“What hospital? What meeting?” her tongue is going to cut her mouth with her deceit, she knows it.

“The one you went to after your home in Amsterdam was ruined?” he asks, suddenly looking uncertain. “October 8th, a couple of months ago. I pulled you out. We met that day.”

“Oh. So, what? Thanks, I guess, for the rescue, but I’ve been in hospitals a couple of times before. It’s not like I need someone to deliver a _get well soon_ card signed by all the Avengers, former or otherwise. Why would you have bothered?” her voice is level, expression clear, and at any other time, she’d be impressed by her subterfuge. As it is, there’s a seedling of disgust growing in her stomach at her deception.

“Darcy. What is your mark?” he asks so directly, Darcy doesn’t even have to pretend the scandalized shock of her expression.

“I’ve never had one. So you can start calling me a witch and burn me at the stake if you want,” she rushes through the lie into the embellishment, hoping to divert the attention from it. The seedling in her stomach bursts into a full-blown tree, shooting up her esophagus and choking her throat.

Steve goes completely still. Her wrist is _burning_.

“You’re… sure?” he chokes out, which makes her internal tree light on fire with guilt.

“It’s not something I’d ever particularly felt like disclosing, considering the stigma, so yes, I’m sure!” she sets a scowl at him, so ready for this painful inquisition to be over.

There’s a moment while he obviously collects his thoughts, which only tests Darcy resolve further, and he sighs.

“Ross won’t let you go back. Or, I suppose he would, but I couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t slap a traitor tag on you and either imprison or kill you. At the moment, I can’t really say what the plan is to get you back since it really depends on their end to drop whatever charges they are probably tallying up for you,” he lets out all this information in a dull voice. Darcy nods.

“I kind of figured. I am curious, however, why my phone can’t seem to contact any of my friends,” her voice is icy. “Since it was fine on the plane thing we took over here, but pow, knocked out when we hit the city.”

“I’m not sure. Did you need to speak to someone?” he asks, voice measured.

_Oh, so you did it._

“Need? No. Want? Yes. I can gather you don’t know much about this era, but going an hour without checking your phone is downright _criminal_ ,” she grumbles. “Jane is probably worried _sick_ about me going dark on her, and if you really want Tony to work on Ross from his side, _it might help if I could contact him_.”

She’s amazed she has to even spell it out for him. He gives a sharp nod.

“I’ll see what we can do,” he says.

_I’m sure you will._

“So, don’t talk to your buddy, try to get me home. We done now?” Darcy asks, her feet tapping in her nervous energy to _get out_ , blatantly ignoring the other frankly insulting key points he mentioned.

“...yes,” Steve’s voice is wistful, but she springs up before he can say anything else.

“Jolly good, then. Bye, Rogers,” she swings around her chair and leaves without a second glance.

 

* * *

 

Steve sits at his desk, watching Darcy close the door behind her quickly. His mind is in complete disarray, the interaction not at all going the way he had expected.

Natasha had brought her to the door, and he could just hear the murmur of ‘a wayward schoolgirl being brought to the headmaster’ which completely threw his head down a path he really didn’t need to go down right at that moment. _Later,_ he’d thought to himself.

Then she was pushed in with the actual reluctance of a wayward schoolgirl, expression fierce, and his mind spun right back to it, like a broken record. Darcy’s form was magnificent, somehow filling out the borrowed Wakandan dress like a glove, and she paused for a moment before walking up to him, determination written on her features. His mouth went dry, watching the sway of her hips, how she nonchalantly threw her dark hair over her shoulder as she sat, blue eyes flashing as she took in his form.

_Better get the worst done first_ , was his thought process bringing Bucky up. Earlier, at the rhinoceros pen, he’d stepped out of his hiding place to say something to Bucky, but Bucky had shaken his head and walked away. He was amazed at the progress his friend had made so far, and it terrified Steve to think of that being compromised.

While he didn’t think Darcy had had any real malice in her, it still stood that she should probably be more reserved in her interactions with Bucky. If she pushed him at the wrong moment about the wrong thing, it’s entirely possible she could end up hurt, and Steve’s heart ached at the thought of trying to keep his best friend from killing his Match. If he was even lucky enough to be nearby at the time.

Her expression, however, was not pleased. Shame burned through him when she had spit out his SHIELD training in disgust, but he could concede she had a point. While subtle deceptions weren’t usually his style, he wasn’t about to deny the aptitude he had in it.

But the warning had to be issued all the same.

Steve could _see_ the hurt underneath all the bluster. Her indignation had been genuine.

That unpleasant task completed, he’d discussed all the unusual contradictions of her being his Match. How she was smart and beautiful, but somehow tangled up in Tony, who knows what she might be, or have been, prompted to say or do. He was momentarily distracted by her flashing eyes and flushed cheeks as she argued with him.

But then he finally was able to transition into his mark. His mark had practically soothed, explaining his thoughts about how much he’d looked forward to meeting her when he was younger. Honesty always seemed to be a good way to get through the most difficult of conversations.

Steve thought she was going to be angry, he had prepared for that. How could he leave her after finding her? How was she supposed to find him if she didn’t even know who he was? Did she even remember their limited interaction?

But instead her anger had blended with confusion, and his mark had twinged.

Confusion shouldn’t be an option if she had his mark. But then she’d denied having a mark at all, and his mark had burned.

The beauty of his memory is that he very rarely forgot important remarks. And important remarks his possible Match made were going to be _impossible_ to forget. Especially since she had specifically, thoughtlessly even, said: “clarity was one thing my soulmark did afford, at least, I thought it did.”

_Which one was the lie?_

He sits there for a few minutes before realizing he should send a message to T’Challa to lift the whatever-he-did to hide the outside world from Darcy. It’s not like his mark declaration had even phased her, so footage of Amsterdam should be irrelevant. That accomplished, he leans back in his chair, his hand steepled over his temple, mulling over their conversation more.

He’s expected anger, perhaps tears, but they would have transitioned to much more agreeable forms of communication before long, the joy of being with their person outweighing whatever emotions may have been stirred up. Jesus, all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her small form and hold her to himself for the first time.

The door opens and Natasha slinks in without a word, sitting on the desk, turned to look at him.

“I figured I shouldn’t come in here, expecting major Match revelations, or maybe revels of another sort, but I saw her in the hall.”

“Mmm,” Steve replies noncommittally.

“Anything you feel like sharing?” Natasha asks.

“She says she doesn’t have a mark,” he replies. “Not just my mark, but any mark at all.”

Natasha’s eyebrow quirks, eyes narrowing.

“Really,” is her only comment, a statement more than a question.

“Really. Even though I could have sworn she referenced her mark on the ship,” Steve supplies, half thinking aloud to himself.

“She did,” Natasha confirms.

“I really don’t understand. Why would she lie, Natasha?”

There’s a part inside of him that he’s trying very hard to ignore. The part of him that remembers the looks of revulsion on every girl he’d ever asked to dance with before the serum. The part of him that would brush aside the disappointed looks of the friends Bucky’s girlfriends would bring along to pair up with him. There had always been a hope, even when he was sickly, that his Match would see beyond his failings and still choose him.

But, no, she’d apparently lie to avoid the Match.

Steve feels like a cracked open egg under the weight of such an unexpected rejection. She was the one who was supposed to be different. She was the one who was supposed to be, well, not easy, he’d mucked that up from the get-go, but at least straightforward.

_Which she was, just straight to the ‘fuck off’ point._

“Hey,” Natasha bumps his shoulder.

Steve had honestly forgotten Natasha was there, wrestling with his inner demons of inadequacy.

“What do you want to do?” she asks.

Steve sighs.

“Try to get her home. T’Challa can work on the diplomacy route. She said she would try to talk to Tony’s side, get their take on things, maybe they can coordinate,” he says.

“You’re really just going to let her disappear again?” Natasha asks incredulously.

“Well, I’m not about to keep her here against her will, and she’s been very clear she wants to go home,” Steve shrugs.

“Steve,” Natasha says softly as if understanding what the admission is costing him. He raises his hand to stop her.

“If she wants to, I have to let her go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the time I wonder if I'm gonna get a shoe thrown at me...


	9. Chapter 9

Darcy is attempting to drown herself in the shower.

She had run the path back to her room from Steve’s office, somehow, despite unseeing eyes. Upon returning, she immediately rushed into the en suite bathroom and proceeded to be sick into the toilet.

When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with a towel and turned the shower on, plunking herself down right in the spray.

The tears, once started, must be kept hidden.

Disgust and self-loathing is writhing within her, choking her, causing great wracking sobs that make her gasp for air. Her clothes are soaked to her skin, and her body begins to shudder as she can’t seem to stop. Water sprays from her mouth as she struggles to keep her breath from running away from her. Nothing would be worse than passing out and someone, anyone, finding out how affected she is.

_Why didn’t I listen to you, mom?_

She feels like her heart has been rent apart, for reasons she’s not entirely sure how to put into words. Revulsion pulses through her hands as she holds them up, shaking, to inspect the zero on her wrist that throbs with pain. Hugging it to her chest, she gasps out sobs trying to slow her heartbeat.

_I can’t._

There was something to be said about all of the poetry and songs that had been written about Matchbreak. It didn’t do the searing pain justice.

The troubling part is how much Darcy wants to get up and go back. Go back and beg for forgiveness for lying about her mark. Beg for even a chance to be someone even slightly worth him. Say how she had been thinking of October 8th, 2017 since she was old enough to understand what it meant. That she spent so many lazy summers dreaming of the meeting and had always striven to be someone worthy of a Match. Which is why Darcy struggled so hard through college, mediocrity wasn’t an option, which is how she ended up with Jane in New Mexico for six credits.

Darcy had had a hard time finding care for her mom, Sandra, when she went to New Mexico. Most of the time she was able to juggle college classes and be at home for her mom, but leaving at her mother’s behest had been bittersweet. Her mother had been slowly devolving into a depression that Darcy, and the doctors, couldn’t help her with. Then when Darcy had returned, after all the horrors involved with men in black suits and explosions, it was to the diagnosis of a brain tumor in Sandra. Darcy had firsthand knowledge of how debilitating Matchbreak could affect someone and had for five years promised herself that she wouldn’t ever fall into the same trap.

She’s reminded of the shadow that would pass over her mom's face every time they’d discuss her dad, warning Darcy to temper her expectations. When she was older, she’d found out how her mom had gone to a St. Patrick's Day party, met him, kicked boots. How he was a hot guy, and Sandra’s mark had positively gleamed after the initial grin he sent her and then shimmered into ruby after their fun. She’d been high on the experience of meeting him, no drugs necessary, and he seemed just as into her. But the next day, he disappeared.

Essentially abandoned, her mom was left with a Matchbreak that shaped Darcy’s entire view on soulmarks. Her younger years she just chalked it up as ‘being sad’ but as she got older and her mother’s declining health got worse, she always blamed her father.

Despite all this, however, she had still planned for that special October Sunday meticulously. Darcy had wanted to defy her mom's prediction, which was then completely proven correct by Darcy’s plan blowing to bits out of her control.

She didn’t want a Match who will be with her one day and then discard her the next, not that it was ever the desired outcome. She wanted to be cherished as much as the stories of successful Matches said, like her childhood memories of her grandparents were. She wanted to be valued because she's bitching awesome.

But now her Match is actually found and he is a superhero, larger than life, with a laundry list of good deeds she could never compare to.

_And he doesn’t want you._

The thought sends another wave of sobs to escape her. She’s trying, desperately, to _let it go, no one cares, you won’t get sympathy here,_ because she knows this isn’t the movies or a drama on TV. There is no quirky friend to pop in and check on her, to coax her through this with ice cream and rom-coms. The only person she can rely on to get her through this unspeakable pain is herself.

The sound of her phone ringing in the other room interrupts her, sending her into a hiccupping sniffling frenzy.

_Thank Mew-mew, they stopped blocking my phone._

The distraction is a welcome one. Maybe now she can figure a way out of this mess, or actually just concede to Ross and live in a prison the rest of her life. It sounds like the preferable option at this point, instead of being in this surprisingly claustrophobic country where she can’t avoid ‘him’.

She struggles to get up, slipping on the tile, deciding to just strip off her wet clothes really quickly and wrap herself in a towel. The ringing stops. She pauses, holding her breath to try and control the hiccups. Sure enough, after about ten seconds of silence, the ringing starts again.

She leaves the bathroom to grab her phone and squints at the unknown number. She clears her throat, trying to sound fairly normal, but knows there will be a warble to her voice no matter what she does. She picks up.

“He-hello?” she hiccups.

“Half Pint, do you know how many times I’ve rung this line? I had FRIDAY set up an automatic dialer so we would know the moment we could actually reach you. What the hell happened?” Tony’s voice on the other line sends a rush of relief through her.

She sits down on the bed, words failing her for a solid ten seconds as she tries to press the tumult of emotions that are riding her down.

“Tony?” she manages to get out, another hiccup interrupting her. “Tony, I want to come home.”

There’s a pause.

“What happened, Darcy?” Tony’s voice is very low. If Darcy wasn’t already upset, she might be a bit worried, but she can’t bring herself to care at this moment.

“It was a setup. I went with Joe and Whatshisface, the other bodyguard, to the meet point, but I couldn’t find it. They ended up with the StarkPhone you gave me and disappeared. Next thing I know, I’ve got a blonde looking like she’s cosplaying Catherine Zeta-Jones in _Entrapment_ leading me to the correct place and Rogers shows up.”

“Rogers. Capsicle? Okay,” she can hear Tony nodding as he processes the information. “What then?”

“Then we talked. Tony, I don’t know what I was thinking. Wanda wouldn’t go there, not with the fear of stigma she’d have to be riding from last time. I didn’t even blink when Ross’ guys said it’d be in Lagos, but you have no idea how incredibly stupid I feel for not figuring it out sooner. Rogers just came to tell me to not waste my time.”

“But he was dragging you through the streets, Darcy,” Tony sounds pained.

“That was only after Joe and Whatshisface found us,” Darcy’s voice drops to a whisper. “With silencers.”

Tony explodes into expletives and it gives Darcy a moment to wipe her face with her towel. The analytical process of disclosing information to Tony is giving her the shove to push aside all the hurt churning in her gut.

_Don’t think about it._

“So,” Tony says a calming moment later. “You ran with Rogers.”

“I ran with Rogers,” Darcy agrees, getting up to look in the wardrobe for something new to wear. “How much footage did you actually see?”

“Just you two running through the streets. It doesn’t really show anyone particularly following you, but I can imagine that’s what makes you look like the devil is on your heels. Then again, the population density of that particular area…” Tony breaks off, discarding the thought. “Unimportant. What happened that made you get on the ship?”

“Bullets flying right past me. I didn’t really have a choice at that point.”

“I knew I should have gone with you. Or just gone myself. Punch to the face or not,” Tony finally says after a moment.

“They wouldn’t have come, you know that,” Darcy refutes as she pulls on a robe and settles back down on her bed. “It would have been a waste of time.”

“How, exactly, would I know that, Half Pint?” Tony asks, suspicion clouding his voice.

_Fuck._

“Well, have you given them any reason to trust you since Leipzig?” Darcy spins a question back at Tony, and continues, hoping he takes the diversion. “In any case, I have now seen Wanda, and I must say she’s…”

“Them?” Tony’s voice breaks through.

“Rogers. And Wanda. And, uh, I’m sure you figured out it was Natasha…” Darcy starts, glad she's not face to face with Tony. He’d pick up on her facial cues immediately.

“Darcy, you’re a terrible liar sometimes.”

_Frigga fuck._

“I’d assumed you’d seen Barnes. Honestly, if you are with Rogers, Barnes is there. But this little evasion means you’ve heard something you really, really don’t want to talk about, hmm?” Tony’s voice is tight.

_Frigga fucking Odin’s fluffy beard off._

“Did they give him a new murder arm?” Tony asks, and she can hear the clinking of ice as he takes a drink.

“Why? What’d you do to the last one?” she counters, suddenly so very tired.

“Blasted it off.”

“Tony…” Darcy begins, before realizing she has absolutely no idea what to say.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t my finest moment, but he was trying to kill me,” Tony’s voice is so blase that Darcy can imagine the hollow look of his expression. “He’s got quite the record of success, so…”

“And I’m sure you were the epitome of restraint before then.”

“ _He’s a murderer, Darcy_ ,” Tony’s voice growls out.

Darcy sighs, really not feeling like defending the man she had the barest acquaintance with a second time.

“I really don't want to talk about this right now. This has been the day from hell, Tony, and I actually don’t want to fight with you,” she says.

“Who’s fighting? Does that mean all those other times you wanted to? I’m touched,” Tony’s voice echoes as if into a glass. “What happened? They have you run laps or something?”

“Yep, they took it literally when I said I was Jane’s lab rat,” Darcy is so relieved by dropping the topic of Barnes. “...Tony?”

“What, Half Pint?” he responds after the gulp of a drink, and her face twitches in tenderness at the nickname.

“When can I come home?”

“Well, to be honest, I would have come and got you already had I any idea how to get to you. Foster said you were in Wakanda, which, mind, might ruffle some peoples feathers if they knew that Wakanda was harboring known ‘people of interest’. Why didn't you mention meeting Steve before? That little revelation is the hardest damage to control, to be honest,” he sighs.

“But I have no idea what Ross is playing here. You’re not exactly a priority person in the grand scheme of things, sorry,” Tony blurts out, but it startles a giggle out of Darcy. “So I can’t imagine what he’s attempting to do.”

“I’ve worked very hard at staying uninteresting so thanks for the compliment,” Darcy sighs. “And I found out about Rogers the same way you did, Tony, through the papers. As far as I knew, it was just a good Samaritan that day, since I was concussed. Has Pepper said anything? Or Jane?”

“About what?” Tony’s voice turns suspicious again.

“I don’t know,” Darcy hedges, slightly relieved by the proof of Tony’s ignorance to her Match. “I can imagine Pepper having a lot of ideas of what’s happening behind the scenes. And I’m worried about Jane without me.”

“Pepper’s been trying to work on the media and is furious about it since it’s not a usual thing for her to be stonewalled. Foster’s fine. Torn into me a couple of times when we couldn’t reach you… which reminds me, what were you doing all that time?” Tony asks. “You went radio silent, for what, 24 hours? It’s practically unheard of for a woman of your millennial talents…”

“Shut it, Tony, my phone died. Then I forgot to plug it in.”

“Again, one does not simply forget to plug in their phone when they’re a 27 year…” Tony begins, but Darcy interrupts him.

“Well, Boromir, this girl did. Really, they’ve been quite nice here. Wanda’s adorable, by the way, thanks for that. I needed more gal pals in my life,” Darcy curls up on her side, finding a throw blanket to toss on her feet and legs.

“Did you show her?” Tony asks. “So I can let Vision know.”

“Of course I did,” Darcy yawns, exhaustion settling into her bones. “It’s not every day warning of the impending doom of half the universe makes it onto my to-do list.”

 

* * *

 

Steve walks into the throne room with Natasha at his side, nodding his greeting, choosing one of the chairs that had been set up for the purpose of this meeting. Natasha sits next to him and nods at T’Challa who’s sitting on his throne.

T’Challa eyes his companions, before turning to send a concerned glance at a woman that Steve knows as Nakia, who is sitting at his left. She shrugs.

They remain silent as another woman named Okoye files into the room to stand near T’Challa, and Steve is staring at the spot where an adjacent chair meets the floor. Wanda shows up leading Darcy into the room. Darcy pauses at the doorway, hesitating.

“Ah, good. We can begin,” T’Challa motions to one of the remaining chairs. She gently takes a chair the furthest from Steve that she can, next to Wanda.

If there’s one thing that Steve is good at, it’s compartmentalization. He can lock up his hurt and pain in a box, push it to the side, and _do what needs to be done_. But at this moment, he really hates that he has to because it’s making it difficult to do both that and look at Darcy impassively.

“What do you need from me?” Darcy asks directly to T’Challa. Not that it matters, she won’t look at Steve and see whatever he might expose. He can feel Natasha’s tense form as she scrutinizes Darcy in the expressionless way that only a Widow trained assassin could.

“I’m sure you understand the predicament, and while we can try to smooth an exit for you, I still fear your government will expect answers you are incapable of giving, Miss Lewis,” T’Challa begins. “It would help if we knew how much damage is being mitigated from the other side.”

“Pepper is working on interviews, vying for me. Tony was surprised that Ross’ men turned on me, so I’m not entirely sure what he can do there,” Darcy shrugs. “He seems to have to do more damage control on Ross than he ever had to do with AI’s direct relief funds after catastrophes.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to expose Ross for what he is? What he’s done?” Wanda asks. Darcy shakes her head at the same time as Nakia.

“He’s ensconced too high. That could cause instability with the nation’s position, and just have the Accords Committee appoint someone new. I’d rather the devil I know than the devil I don’t,” Darcy sighs.

“Miss Lewis is right,” Nakia adds. “Just because you get rid of the man, does not mean the power is gone. The void would be filled, by a potentially unknown entity.”

Darcy eyes the woman she’s unfamiliar with before shrugging.

“I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here for the time being. Which may not be as long as we think.”

“What do you mean?” T’Challa asks, frown on his features.

“The entire reason I came, despite what anyone else thinks,” Darcy shoots a sharp glance at Steve, which he feels all the way down to his toes. “Is to give a detailed account of Vision’s… vision. Ugh, Tony wasn’t wrong, it’s so redundant.”

“Which is?” Natasha asks tersely.

“Someone is coming. Someone who wants to pry the stone off Vision’s head and add it to his collection. A devastating collection possibly including, but not limited to, the _Aether_ and the _Tesseract_.”

Darcy pauses, looking at Wanda, who nods.

“Vision knows if I found Wanda, she could show you in her way the truth of his claims. Which may explain why I had to be physically present. Not that you really want an email about something like this, hello spam folder…”

“How much devastation? I can imagine quite a bit,” Steve sits up, relieved at having a problem to focus on.

Darcy turns her blue eyes at him and he forgets to breathe. The edges of her eyes are rimmed the lightest of reds, and he’s surprised to see a melancholy demeanor hiding underneath her expression. It’s fortunate that he can hold his breath for quite a while because she seems to be lost for words as the moment drags.

He can feel the tension of the other inhabitants as they glance amongst each other. Wanda finally nudges Darcy’s foot with her own, and Darcy’s haunted eyes break away from his.

“The only things left would be loyal to him. Which means destroying more than half of the known universe,” Darcy whispers. Steve leans back, feeling strangely uncertain of her, not knowing if she’s being melodramatic or not.

Wanda stands, walking to T’Challa with a respectful nod.

“With your permission,” she says. T’Challa glances at Darcy thoughtfully before nodding.

Wanda’s hands glow red and she raises them to T’Challa’s forehead, which causes Okoye and Nakia to shift in uncertainty. His eyes glow a golden red for a moment before he gasps out, causing Wanda to drop her hands.

“I am sorry,” she mutters softly, before moving to Okoye, who repeats the process, reacting with a stern face. Wanda then offers to Nakia and tilts her head in question.

“I trust my King,” Nakia says, eyeing the dark redhead distrustfully.

Wanda accepts this, moving to stand in front of Steve, who nods. Unlike the last time that Wanda surprised him using her mind magic, he visibly cringes as he remembers the familiar, cloying feeling creep into his mind and block his senses.

There’s an eerie murmur here, the sounds of people and busyness and _life_. There’s a view of a New York building with a strange emblem built into its window that’s unfamiliar to Steve. It disappears in a haze to the Avengers Tower, Vision unmistakable through the window with the yellow gem glowing on his forehead.

Then it shifts again, in rapid succession. A rolling set of plains to a city clogged with traffic, to a roaring waterfall, on and on. It pulls away to Earth sitting alone to many planets to multiple galaxies, further back to where Steve hasn’t even imagined there was life. The murmur of life has built to a dull roar at this point until suddenly, silence.

And it all goes black.

Steve gasps, waking from Wanda’s magic.

“What was that?” he coughs out, as Wanda moves to Natasha who shakes her head, nodding her head at Steve.

Darcy has a sad look on her face. “The end.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky is outside of the room when they adjourn. Darcy walks out of the room first, looking worn down from the weight of the previous conversation, Wanda close at her heels. Steve watches her stop at the sight of Bucky, avert her eyes and step around him without a word.

Bucky frowns and turns around to follow her.

“Did you get on that train too?” he asks Darcy, falling into step next to her. Steve follows at a distance, Natasha at his side.

“Fuck off, Jimbo.”

“Okay, you can’t be that pissed if you’re sticking with the endearing nicknames,” Bucky says, throwing his right arm around her shoulder. Darcy visibly startles at the contact, eyes flying up to look him in the face. Wanda is looking at Bucky doubtfully.

“The way I see it is there’s a lack of folks who’d even attempt to stay neutral, even if being neutral means they’re angry at everyone.”

“What makes you think I’m angry?” Darcy asks flatly. Bucky chuckles.

“Good Lord, you have the same look that Stevie did at five foot four, and you’re going to argue with me that you’re not angry at everything? That you don’t have something to prove?” he eyes her skeptically. Darcy’s mouth drops open, horror lining her features, which makes Wanda look at her confused.

“Excuse me, I’m _nothing_ like Rogers.”

Bucky bursts out into laughter.

“Bucky, enough.”

Steve’s voice cuts over them, Natasha eyeing him critically as if reading something from the interaction, and Wanda jumps. Only Bucky continues to laugh, watching Darcy. Darcy makes a rude hand motion at Bucky and steps out from him, walking away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm almost done writing this, but it looks like it'll be 16 or maaaybe 17 parts. Hence why all the crazy update schedule, since I only have 10 days to get the rest of the chapters out. 
> 
> I also may come back here and adjust a bit after Infinity War comes out, because I'd rather just fix it later than assume something that's possibly a spoiler. Cheers. <3


	10. Chapter 10

Darcy is sitting in the dining hall the next day, holding her coffee in one hand, swiping on her phone as she confers with Jane over text.

**Hey, how’s the home front looking?**

_I don’t know, Darcy, everyone seems really tense and I can’t figure out why._

**Tense? Who?**

_Tony, for one, he’s come to check on me literally twice today. And as soon as he leaves, Kochanski or Martin show up, lurking around. It doesn’t make sense since it’s not like my current data is exactly behind anything they can’t access._

**Kochanski? That bitch was always on my ass about transcribing your notes, so maybe she’s impatient since I’m not there to do the dirty work for her. Keep Lucky nearby, I don’t trust her.**

_Okay. In any case, something is up, and no one’s saying a word. What about you?_

**I’ve been reading the news.**

_I’m so sorry that you had to find out that way, Darcy. And I’m sorry he’s such an asshole._

**That’s actually not why I’m bringing it up, Jane.**

_Why are you, then?_

**This Amsterdam photo they all are using, I didn’t know it existed, right?**

_Right._

**And I didn’t know Rogers, or know I met him already, before meeting him in Lagos, right?**

_WIth you so far, Darce._

**Then why did it post 24 hours before I even knew he’d be there? I can see why they’d post it later, but why the early release?**

_What?_

**First posted, Wednesday, Feb 28th at 8:49 am. I was already on a plane by then, clueless.**

_Why would someone post it then? No one would have known you were on your way to the meet..._

**I don’t know.**

Darcy frowns at her phone, switching tabs to scroll through an endless stream of news with the other. She’s piecing together a timeline in her head of how quickly the narrative changed after Lagos, frowning.

“Bad news?”

The voice startles Darcy, who upsets her coffee cup all over the table. She glares at Natasha who’s sitting across from her as if there for a long moment, staring at her impassively.

“Mighty Mew-mew, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Darcy hisses, trying to use a napkin to mop up the liquid. Natasha just continues to look at her.

“Pretty sure I’m immune to the spy stare down, Natasha,” Darcy adds, wiping her mug before picking her phone back up, ignoring her.

After a few minutes of silence, Darcy sighs.

“I have the feeling like you’re going to scrutinize my very atoms at the rate. Is there something in particular you wanted?” she asks.

“Just observing,” Natasha replies.

“Well, observe somewhere else,” Darcy mutters.

“You look like you have a question,” the other woman responds. Darcy quirks her eyebrow.

“Hmm. Okay, fine. Let’s see what you make of this.”

Natasha tilts her head, inviting her to continue.

“I left New York Wednesday morning, arriving approximately 11 hours later, and hung around the rest of the night till our meet the following morning, right?” Darcy asks. “And we met on Thursday, the news rabble following us almost immediately from there.”

“Sounds correct.”

“Then why the Frigga did this picture of Rogers and me in Amsterdam post on Wednesday morning?” Darcy twists her phone, showing a smaller known journalism magazine declaring a sensationalist title with the said photograph, timestamp visible.

Natasha frowns slightly.

“That was before we even met in Lagos. Before I knew that either of you’d actually be there, assuming it’d be a tea party with Wanda. Someone had to know that you were coming, or taken a very educated guess,” Darcy sighs.

“Who had your itinerary?” Natasha asks.

“Tony. Pepper and Jane to an extent,” Darcy immediately replies. “Ross, of course.”

“And everyone underneath him,” the blonde ponders aloud to herself.

“Yup. I mean, I kind of assumed Ross had some hand in this media frenzy,” Darcy frowns at her phone again. “But I didn’t even know who got me out that day in Amsterdam till now, let alone that this photo existed. And it’s bugging me that it was held by someone to publish at the right moment.”

Natasha glances at Darcy, eyebrow raised.

“And what makes it the right moment?” she asks.

Darcy stares back at Natasha, trying to keep as bland as an expression as the woman opposite her.

“The only thing I can figure is it was to draw attention to my coming,” she finally says.

Natasha arches an eyebrow as if to say _oh?_

“In case ‘someone’ missed that I was coming,” Darcy mutters. “Not that I’m worth it.”

Natasha’s expression sharpens, looking frustrated.

“Come on,” Natasha says to her, standing up. “I want to show you something.”

“Is it a teacup rhino?” Darcy asks warily. She stands, pocketing her phone, knowing there’s really no way to refuse something that the Widow would want to show her.

“You’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha leads her through the building to a large room, with large mats and weights. There are many women here, in various gym clothing, sparring and training with various equipment.

“The _Dora Milaje_ ,” Natasha states, nodding to the women around her.

Darcy is struck dumb, watching the women go through their drills with such precision that she’d rarely witnessed firsthand. Natasha walks them around the room, letting Darcy take her time appraising the skill of the women training around her. She slowly leads them around to a windowed room, devoid of anything but a large grey training mat on the ground. Closing the clear door behind them, Natasha motions to the center of the mat.

“Erm,” Darcy says, turning as if to say _who me?_

“Go on,” Natasha says. Darcy snorts.

“Is this like an assassin’s shovel talk? No thanks,” Darcy eyes the door to freedom.

“You will not leave this room until you hit me,” Natasha states blandly.

“Do I have to?” Darcy whines. “Because this sounds a lot like exercise. But, see, my definition of exercise doesn’t actually involve moving.”

Natasha gives her a look.

Darcy scurries to the middle of the mat.

“Now hit me,” Natasha says as she takes a position in front of Darcy.

Darcy sighs, curling her hand into a fist.

“There’s no way to get out of this, huh?” Darcy grumbles. Natasha only raises her eyebrows.

Darcy throws out a punch, which she knows is poor, just wanting to get this over with. Natasha simply steps to the side, letting Darcy stumble by her.

“You stayed on your feet, I’m surprised,” Natasha comments.

“Well, I learned pretty quickly when I end up on the ground, there’s a much higher chance of ending up dead.”

Natasha gives a quick nod, conceding the point, motioning to her hand.

“Fix your fist,” Natasha grabs Darcy's hand, adjusting her fingers, squeezing it into a proper fist. “Good. Now again.”

Darcy sighs and tries again.

Ten minutes later, Natasha is still dancing around Darcy who’s running out of breath, getting angry.

“Can you explain to me _why_ you’re torturing me like this?” she puffs out.

“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it out,” Natasha counters, looking down at her nails.

Darcy continues to pant, leaning over her legs, taking the moment to gather her thoughts. It’s rather difficult when she doesn’t feel like she’s getting enough oxygen to her brain.

“Right,” Darcy mutters, righting herself to try again. She’ll be damned if she doesn’t at least try to attempt to save face. Because honestly, Darcy knows exactly what this is about. It’s about lying about not having a mark and lying to her Match. She’s not at all surprised Natasha has figured it out and is unimpressed.

Darcy throws her fist out again, which Natasha responds by darting her foot out to trip her, rolling Darcy onto her back.

“Ack!”

“You’re throwing out too much of your weight,” is Natasha’s ever so helpful comment.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting you to suddenly interject with your foot,” Darcy grumbles, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“Someone has to, though, otherwise you both will just keep flailing around hopelessly,” Natasha replies, kneeling down.

“What?” Darcy narrows her eyes at the blonde.

“Bucky is right, you _are_ angry. Downright incensed. But you have no idea what to do with that anger, do you? So, as long as it’s not Jane, anyone else is collateral damage?” Natasha eyes her with distaste.

“Jane is all I have left,” Darcy hisses. “My family is _dead_.”

“All the more reason to be angry,” Natasha stands, shrugging. “And Steve lost all his family, too.”

“What does he have to do with this?” Darcy gets up, adjusting her clothing back to normal.

“Quite a bit, I imagine,” Natasha raises her eyebrows. “You do seem to have a lot in common with him, except maybe that you’re a much more experienced liar.”

Darcy snorts.

“Is that a compliment or insult? I’m afraid it’s hard to tell coming from you,” she bites out.

“Just because you’re experienced doesn’t mean you’re good at it,” Natasha replies “But I do wonder at _why_.”

“Why what?” Darcy grinds out, throwing out her fist again. She frowns as Natasha breaks her momentum by grabbing it mid-air.

“Why you’re acting like a coward,” the blonde replies in a frigid voice, pulling her arm towards her and crowding Darcy’s body. “I’ve read the reports on the Destroyer. My friend was there even, he saw you _saving animals from a pet shop_ , but you turn and run at the prospect of a happy Match?”

“I do declare that’s the longest sentence you’ve ever said to me,” Darcy drawls out in a sarcastic southern accent, glaring at Natasha, before continuing in a normal voice. “And I didn’t _run_ , I just didn’t accept it and gave him an out. What difference does it make if I confirm it or not? My mark is _meaningless_. My mom’s Timer was meaningless, and my Timer was meaningless, as us Lewis women are just not expected to Match with someone who actually **_wants us_**!”

Natasha drops Darcy’s hand, the darkest expression gracing her face that Darcy’s been privy to.

Darcy’s phone begins to vibrate, and she roughly digs into her pocket.

“I don’t know why it’s any of your business, but if saving the _shreds_ of my dignity when I’m told how much of a piece of shit I am as a Match is being a coward, then sure. I’m a coward. But at least I can keep my head up if, no, _when_ I have to inevitably deal with _him_ again,” Darcy says in a broken whisper, eyes springing tears, before turning away to answer the phone. “Hello?”

_Crack._

 

* * *

 

Steve starts to run through the compound. A text had appeared on his phone:  _emergency, Dora Milaje training center, Darcy._

He needed to have a chat with T’Challa about conveying proper information about emergencies through texts.

Steve arrives at the training room, completely unprepared for what to expect. People are milling around, and he can see T’Challa and his sister Shuri conferring over a tablet, with Okoye in close proximity.

“The hell happened, Nat?” he grinds out, eyeing the room for details and seeing Natasha. “Where’s Darcy?”

Natasha is sitting off to the side, staring at the ground where her knife is stabbed into the cushy floor, a scrap of material caught around it. She nods to it.

“She was right there,” she says in a steady voice.

“Was?” Steve asks with confusion lining his face.

“She got a phone call,” Natasha says, voice monotone. “And something cracked open. It looked like when you spill milk all over the floor, all round and uneven, bright with rainbow edges. I reached to grab her, pull her away, but arms came through it and pulled her through before I could. I even tried to pin her clothes to the ground, but they just ripped clean when whatever it was closed.”

“Where did she go?” Steve walks over to the spot, unable to understand what Natasha is telling him. Wakanda is so secure that, unless you were a local, it is very difficult to make it out by foot or land, requiring air travel and therefore coordination. Darcy can’t be gone.

_She can’t be gone._

T’Challa notices him standing there, expression regretful.

“Steve,” he begins, patting his shoulder to get his attention. “I am sorry, my friend.”

“Where did she go?” Steve asks again. Shuri appears next to T’Challa, holding up the pad with the security feed.

“Here, Steve,” she says, pressing play on the video. “The audio was corrupted, but we should have it fixed soon.”

As the video begins to play, he sees Natasha and Darcy come into the room. Natasha and Darcy had been _sparring?_ At least, Darcy was throwing punches, which makes Steve glance at Natasha sharply. What the hell was Natasha doing? But current Natasha is looking at the knife in the floor still, eerily quiet. Continuing on the video, Darcy trips to the floor which makes him tense. Darcy gets up to yell and throw a fist at Natasha, who grabs it. They speak angrily between themselves for a moment before Natasha drops her hand. Darcy then turns before she grabs her phone out of her pocket and holds it to her ear.

Steve can imagine the sound, this strangely mute video showing the air ripping apart instantly into a contorted bright hole with colorful edges. Natasha reaches out, missing Darcy’s arm as two pairs of yellow hands reach through the blinding portal and grab Darcy by her midsection and shoulders, yanking hard. Natasha throws down a knife from a sheath on her hip that snags just a small section of a portion of Darcy’s dress, before her whole body is yanked through and it disappears after her feet.

“ _Where the hell did she go?_ ” Steve yells, a feeling akin to panic tracing along his spine. T’Challa grips his shoulder, shaking his head.

“We do not know,” T’Challa murmurs, keeping a calm voice. “Our best guess is it has to do with Foster’s technology we’ve read of. It’s a fascinating theory, but has only been a theory for so long that we’re not even sure how it would manifest.”

“You’re telling me Darcy’s _best friend_ did this?” Steve is unable to keep his voice controlled.

“Or someone with access to her research,” Shuri adds helpfully.

“Ross?” Steve chokes out, terror drenching the bottom of his gut like a rush of water.

“I do not know, Steve, but the readings we are getting are giving us no useful information. Simply that there was a disturbance here. I do not know if we will be able to find you answers,” T’Challa replies.

Steve shakes T’Challa’s hand off of his shoulder and gives the room a glance over. Apart from the knife in the mat, there is nothing abnormal about the room. Natasha looks oddly blank on the floor, uninjured, which makes Steve turn and leave the room.

He’s _furious_.

Despite knowing that Darcy wanted to go home, he was comforted by the thought that at least she was safe. Even when she was at the Tower, fully ensconced with Tony all those months and ignorant of their connection, at least she was safe from general threats. Tony seemed to trust her, which means she’d been under his neurotic purview, which was begrudgingly acceptable to Steve. When he himself had brought her to Wakanda, there were precious few outsiders allowed in or out, so he completely let his guard down, for once not worried about what trouble his Match could get into since he’d discovered her.

But now she’s gone and he has no idea how to find her.

“Steve!”

He turns, glaring. Sam is standing there, frowning in concern.

“She’s gone, Sam.”

“Who? Darcy? Who let her go?” Sam asks, confused.

“No one. She just disappeared,” Steve says in a very firm, quiet voice. “Ask Nat. Actually, ask Natasha about the whole episode. I need to know what she was trying to accomplish.”

Sam nods, backtracking the way he came.

Steve finds his way to his office, closing his door, motions very deliberate. There’s a burning sensation filling his entire body and he’s not entirely sure how to rid himself of it. For some reason, the pain of her denying his soulmark didn’t hurt nearly so much, perhaps he optimistically thought they might somehow work through her deception.

But now she’s out of his reach again and he wants to break his desk standing in front of him. Instead, he throws himself into his seat with a frown fixed firmly on his face.

_She’s so beautiful. Commanding a presence just by being in the room, tenacious and terrifying. She could talk circles around me, good lord, and I would just let her. I did just let her. Why the hell didn’t I stop her? Why did I let her just walk out that door? Jesus, she looked magnificent._

_But why would someone want to take her?_

He suddenly sits up, ripping open a drawer on his desk too firmly causing the drawer to break off. Setting it on top of the desk, he sees tucked to the side a small black flip phone. He picks it up, staring at it for a long moment.

_Tony could find her._

A knock raps on his door, with the barest of pauses before someone barges in. Steve’s still staring at the phone, uncaring.

“What the hell did you say to her?” Sam asks, voice a blend of concerned and angry.

“Natasha? Nothing,” Steve says, the frown still etched upon his face as he continues looking at the phone.

“Not Natasha. _Darcy._ Natasha relayed the whole damned situation to me, what the hell did you say to Darcy to make her _deny her mark_?” Sam sounds downright pained.

“What?” Steve looks up, feeling his face drain of color. “I figured she was lying, but how did you confirm it?”

“That’s what Natasha was doing. Pushing her buttons till she broke her silence. Why would Darcy lie to you? Why would she want to?” Sam asks. "Do you even understand what sort of _damage_ that can cause?"

“I told her to be careful around Bucky since he’s still recovering. I don’t know how I could live with myself without giving her some sort of warning about his progress. That there might be some people suspicious of her because of her affiliation with Tony, and maybe Thor. But that I could still overlook that, since she was my Match,” Steve states dully. “Which she promptly looked at me like I was crazy and said she didn’t have a mark at all. I think she even mentioned witch burnings due to the stigma.”

Sam looks horrified.

“If this wasn’t so god damned tragic, Steve, I’d be laughing my ass off right now,” Bucky calls from the doorway, shaking his head. “As it is, I’m just generally insulted and pissed off. That’s why she told me to fuck off, huh? Because you scared her away?”

“Did you seriously tell her all of that, Steve? There’s no way you can be that stupid,” Sam breathes.

“Of course he did, he’s nothing if not annoyingly honest in his recollections,” Bucky kicks off from the doorway, walking in the rest of the way. “No wonder she said what she did to Natasha.”

“What? We’re not exactly in the most normal of circumstances here, I figured it’d be good to know where things stand,” Steve argues, feeling a little bit like being on quicksand. He was so used to talking with his peers about missions in an impersonal manner that he didn’t stop to consider how his statements of the situation may have sounded to Darcy.

Sam pulls out his phone, tapping it a couple of times before a garbled recording plays.

“ _...and I didn’t run, I just didn’t accept it and gave him an out. What difference does it make if I confirm it or not? My mark is meaningless. My mom’s Timer was meaningless, and my Timer was meaningless, as us Lewis women are just not expected to Match with someone who actually **wants us**!_ ”

Steve feels an icy terror slide down his throat as he realizes just exactly how his Match took his declaration. He buries his face in his hands, groaning aloud.

“She thinks I don’t _want_ her?” his muffled voice makes it out. “When she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen? That I could wake up to her every day and probably find new reasons why she’s perfect for me?”

“Did you actually say any of that? Or did you just outline everything objectionable about _her_ instead of _you_? ‘Cause, fuck man, you sound like the biggest bastard right now. No wonder she managed to mislead you,” Sam mutters under his breath. “I swear, if Darcy hadn’t just disappeared in front of her eyes, Natasha would probably be on her way to murder you right now.”

Steve sits up, grabbing the flip phone again, hesitating. He can feel his resolve tightening to dial the one phone number this specific phone can ring.

“I can call Tony.”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head, taking the phone out of Steve’s hand. “You want to explain to him how his ‘Half Pint’ is suddenly missing from one of the most secure countries in the world, over the phone?”

“What else do I do, Bucky? He’s had direct access with her and her things, not to mention Foster’s research, so he has the best chance of figuring out where she went,” Steve chokes out. “I’m honestly not above begging right now, even if I have to admit to him exactly who Darcy is to me.”

“You can’t do this over the phone. You have to go ask him for help.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finaaaally, someone spells it out.
> 
> and I like to think if Sam had known any of this, he'd have shown up with ice cream and Steel Magnolias.


	11. Chapter 11

_White. Shimmers of color, edging her blinded vision._

There’s a suspended moment where she thinks that this floating, unrealistic space could actually be another world, but she continues to fall backward, dragged along by the arms chained to her back.

She is pulled completely through and feels reality crush her body. Darcy collapses to the floor as the hands that grabbed her disappear. She can feel her entire body alight in confusion as she convulses. An icy chill spreads across her body that _burns_. An echo fills the room, her own crackling screams crying out in terror.

Loud yells join her echoes through a chamber. She feels the touch of equipment, hands from the bustling amount of people around her, and struggles to open her eyes. Or maybe they’re already open and she’s just become blind. The shuddering torment is caressing her body without restraint, she can’t think.

“...heart rate 116, get her in the stretcher… she’s tachy…”

Darcy’s head feels like it’s going to split open as she continues to scream in pain and fear. Being hoisted up and pressed horizontally, she feels the edges of numbing agony and she fights with the endless new hands that are touching her, _get off of me, get away, make it stop, I’m dying. Let me die._

A stab into her arm causes her body to flail, and silence leaks into her ears as sounds drain away. Darcy’s tortured thoughts fall into the darkness of unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Darcy awakens slowly. Her entire form feels groggy and unresponsive, mind sluggish. Unlike when she woke up in the hospital in Amsterdam, all at once with a burst of energy, she refuses to open her eyes, preferring to scout the room by her ears first.

She frowns, as the sounds in the room are inconsistent. The beeps of a monitor fading in and out, like she’s underwater and the waves of sounds are floating to her over time.

Cracking her eyes open slightly, her vision is no better. There are concrete walls and dim, clinical light swimming in front of her.

The strangest thing about it is the utter calm that she feels. There is no emotion, just observation. So when her vision clears somewhat and she sees a sandy-haired man in the background, conferring with men in suits and lab coats, she remains completely placid despite knowing they’re discussing her. Their expressions look far too delighted for Darcy’s tastes.

A female in one of the lab coats walks over to her bed, smiling at Darcy. Darcy blinks hazily.

“...Lewis? How... ...feeling?” the words the woman speak phase in and out, and Darcy squints, unable to recognize her.

Suddenly, a ringing sound pierces through her fog and Darcy’s eyes roll back in her head, body abruptly bursting into convulsions.

 

* * *

 

The flight from Wakanda to New York state passes in an almost oppressive silence. Steve is castigating himself for his own idiocy, wrapped up in his own head with worry, exhausted with the tense silence that the piloting Natasha is treating him to, and Bucky is angrily brooding in his seat.

_Someone who actually wants us, someone who actually wants us, someone who actually wants us…_

The words echo through Steve’s head, cutting into him just a little bit at a time. He remembers feeling rejection over and over, and it’s hard to push those feelings of inadequacy aside after it had only been a handful of years that he was aware of being different and new and strong. But why would Darcy feel inadequate? She has all the tenacity of women he’d respected throughout his life, such as his mom, Peggy, even Natasha, and Darcy is beautiful to boot. Referencing her own mother's Timer is niggling his brain and he isn’t quite sure why.

He remembers reading Darcy’s file sometime after Amsterdam, skimming over details, trying not to be too curious. Just because he had access to her history didn’t mean he didn’t want to discover it a more natural way.

Darcy’s mother Sandra had been 19 when she had had Darcy out of Matchlock. The two of them had lived with her grandparents until her grandfather had died in the early ‘90s, her grandmother following him a few short months later. She had a pretty normal upbringing until Thor appeared, and then her mother had died in 2012. There was no mention of Darcy’s father, and Steve felt an affinity with her as he hadn’t known his father either.

But Steve knew his father had chosen his mother, mark or not. Apparently, Darcy didn’t have that luxury.

If her mother had a Timer as well, as Darcy had said, she would have known when to expect to meet her Match. It was a common problem with the Timer marked, they almost went looking for trouble when their Timer counted down to zero. So whenever Sandra Lewis’ Timer was, how long was she with Darcy’s father until he disappeared from her life?

_This is why she lied_ , Steve suddenly thinks morosely, _and I thought I’d fucked up with only accidentally leaving her in Amsterdam. That’s only one grievous fault in a jumble of them._

They’re close to their destination as Steve’s wrist vibrates and he pulls up a call from T’Challa.

“Steve, how is your journey?” the king asks, concern riding his features.

“Fine,” Steve says shortly, in no mood for pleasantries. “What is it?”

“We’ve found a video, but I’m afraid it’s not very comforting.”

Steve feels like he’s been wearing a frown for hours, but nods. The video pulls up from his wrist, drawing Bucky’s attention who approaches to watch as well. Steve sees a room with concrete walls from a security camera angle, filled with electrical equipment, computers, a gurney and a myriad of people in lab coats.

He watches as they’re all staring towards a platform where a strange vertical construction of metal, electrodes, and conduits that stands fairly tall. A pair of men with yellow gloves up to their shoulders are standing by it with full laboratory face shields on their heads. Steve can see electrical conduits trail off of them, grounded to a silver box on the floor.

They’re all staring at a clock on the wall behind it, time slowly ticking by the second down. There are easily two dozen people in this room, all turned with assessing eyes to a clock that counts down to zero.

Nothing happens.

The people all tense up, as if waiting for a change. Steve notices someone with a phone to their ear suddenly slam down on his keyboard. The strange vertical gate where the pair of yellow drabbed men are standing then lights up. It splits open the air into a bright light with shimmering colorful edges, struggling to stay open. The size is no larger than a large truck’s tire, but the men don’t hesitate. They throw their arms through it, yanking with a sudden force, pulling Darcy into view. The wires hanging off of the men glow with electrical current shocking through them, and he can see their grimaces through their masks.

One more quick heave and she’s pulled all the way through, eyes closed, screams echoing from her through the hall, body twitching. Steve feels punched in the gut as the low audio is still managing to echo with her screams over the deafening sound of the opened portal. It cracks shut as quickly as it appeared, it’s purpose completed.

The room bursts into action, the men with the yellow gloves dropping Darcy on the ground as if burned. They walk away to remove the wires and peel off their gloves, pointing out to their specific nurses where their long sleeves underneath are singed. Darcy is convulsing on the floor, outfit melting off of her in chunky shreds as people bustle around her, adjusting her. Doctors are yelling orders out to each other as they heft her up to the stretcher. She lets out one last keening shriek before falling silent.

The feed goes black.

Steve rubs his face, this terrible feeling of helplessness crawling all over his skin.

“Steve?” T’Challa’s voice breaks through. “This was posted on the darkweb. It only pinged because it directly references Dr. Foster, almost advertising the technology, and we came upon it hoping for some sort of clue to see what happened to Darcy. She seems to be alive, in any case.”

“Seems to be alive, very comforting, T’Challa,” Steve mutters. “Thank you for the information.”

“Good luck, my friend,” T’Challa says before he ends the feed.

Bucky glances at Steve with a grim expression.

“What the hell is going on here, Steve?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know unless someone has figured out that Darcy is my Match. Why else would they take her under such extreme measures?” Steve says in a quiet voice. “If it’s Ross, what sort of concessions do you think he’ll demand from me to assure her safety?”

“How would he have even found out?” Natasha breaks in from the front. “I couldn’t get a confirmation out of Darcy until I smashed all of her buttons at once. On purpose.”

Bucky eyes Natasha as Steve shrugs.

“Maybe he didn’t need confirmation. Maybe it’s just a really lucky guess. I’m sure he has all manner of contingencies in case he was wrong,” Steve says.

“At least she’s alive,” Bucky murmurs.

 

* * *

 

“Miss Lewis? Can… hear…?” Darcy feels herself being tugged out of slumber. Slowly, almost gently, but brings to her attention to how immobile she is.

“Miss Lewis? Darcy?”

She opens her eyes, vision still blurred. A woman is hovering next to her face, who smiles at Darcy.

“There you are, sleepyhead,” the woman chirps, adjusting Darcy’s blankets around her.

Darcy feels her senses awakening slowly, as the present state of being almost feels like too hard of a burden to bear. Her feet and legs are wrapped in sterile covers, arms are placed carefully over the blankets, and the oxygen mask banded to her face is cutting into her cheek. She can feel the slight tightness of what feels like bandages over large portions of her body, especially her left hand, which sends a trill of alarm through her. There is the mild hint of pain caressing her entire body, making her aware of the IV planted into her arm presumably to keep it in check. The woman with dark hair next to her places glasses on Darcy’s face and things become clearer but still float with an unusual edge.

“I’m Mandy, I’ve been making sure you didn’t float off into the darkness, you goose!”

Darcy instantly hates her.

“You’ve been asleep for so long, we have to get you up and at ‘em! Can’t laze about all week, can we?” Mandy says cheerfully, adjusting a couple of buttons to the side of Darcy.

Darcy feels the bed lift her torso, showing her more of the room. Apart from the equipment around her bed and a few chairs, it’s completely bare. Fluorescent lighting glares at her from the ceiling, making the concrete walls and steel door with a window look particularly stark. There is a large mirror built into the wall which Darcy instantly assumes is a one-way mirror, and no windows to peer outside.

“Wh..” Darcy begins to try to talk, but it comes out like a broken whisper.

“Oh, no! Don’t talk, your vocal cords are healing. Screaming silly will do that. I’ll see about getting you a whiteboard soon, okay?” Mandy pats her shoulder. “Do you remember your accident?”

Darcy shakes her head. In reality, she has a haze of memory of Natasha and perhaps yelling at her, but this cheerful automaton of a nurse or doctor or whatever Mandy is freaks her out. When in doubt, know nothing.

“You were walking along, minding your own business when a power line got cut and fell right on you! Can you believe it? The odds of surviving that are amazing! My little power princess,” Mandy smoothes Darcy’s hair.

Darcy realizes her hate is justified.

But hate is so exhausting, so she relaxes for the moment, thinking whoever Mandy is or whoever she works for must at least not want her dead if she’s connected to all manner of machines dedicated to life support.

Darcy sighs.

“Now, I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions, do you think you can lift your right hand for yes and left hand for no? Just a bit, mind, it’ll be easier than nods, much more definitive,” Mandy’s lips pull over her teeth in the most terrifying smile Darcy can ever remember seeing and she lifts her right hand slightly.

“Good! Let’s see, I have a list here that the doctors want me to go over to check your cognitive abilities,” Mandy begins the test with flashcards, going through shapes and colors. It progressively gets more challenging, but Darcy has no trouble.

“Now, do you know who this is?” Mandy pulls out a card of Jane. Darcy feels a beat of fear, wondering where Jane is right now but raises her right hand.

“And this?” the next card is Thor, looking quite relaxed in a nice shirt and jeans. Darcy raises her right hand again. _He’s the God of Thunder, he can handle this._

“Good, good,” Mandy’s smile is still affixed on her face in an unnatural way. She pulls out a card of Tony, somehow making a suit look casual. At Darcy’s affirmation, the next card is an Iron Man suit. Again, right hand.

“Almost done, darling, you’re doing so well!” Mandy coos, which makes Darcy struggle to keep from wincing.

On the next card is Steve in his classic Captain America regalia, cowl over his head. Darcy feels a beat of fear, knowing that she has to confirm knowing him as she lifts her right hand, since who doesn’t know of Captain America? Mandy’s eyes narrow in interest at her slight hesitation.

The next picture is Steve in a simple white t-shirt and jeans. Fear spikes, Darcy feels like her heart stops, and a monitor pings behind her. She slowly raises her left hand. Without knowing exactly what happened, she can’t involve him in this, when she doesn’t even know who’s asking or why.

“Oh, honey, are you sure?” Mandy says regretfully.

Darcy nods, forgetting to raise her hand at all.

“Well, there’s nothing for it then,” the woman says, pressing a button that causes a ring to sound out behind Darcy and the world goes black.

 

* * *

 

Darcy wakes up _angry_.

_Fuckers, stop knocking me out right when I get my bearings!_

She slams her right fist down next to her on the bed, upsetting her IV.

_Fuck, that hurts!_

“I will say you’re not quite what I was expecting the Captain’s Match to be.”

The voice startles Darcy, looking up to see a fairly fit man in the corner on a folding chair, wearing a rather expensive looking suit. He’s older, a pair of rectangular glasses perched on his nose, grey hair dusting his sandy hair at the temples. He glances down at his watch.

“Another enhanced, perhaps a mutant, would have made more sense. Someone who’s a little bit more hardy. I suppose it’s useful, though, for you to be so ordinary. Just means you’re that much more frail.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she hoarsely whispers out, wincing at the pain of it.

“I was downright gobsmacked that Stark requested for you to be sent out of the country. Of all the people he could have chosen, he offers us a veritable _gift_ by recommending you,” the man chuckles lightly to himself. “Obviously, his discernment is already comically lacking when it comes to you, but the number of things it put in motion…”

Darcy glares at him, remaining silent. She has a mad reflex to defend Tony, but if this unknown man is feeling chatty, who is she to interrupt?

“We’ve tried for years to snag Rogers back. You don’t understand how hard it was to even keep tabs on him. Whispering in and out of the world like a ghost. It took some rather disreputable sources to even find who he met that day in October,” the man shakes his head to himself. “Whoever took that photograph in Amsterdam became a _very rich_ individual. Our assignment gives us quite the budget.”

“Imagine our surprise when you’re already in our system. And if there’s one thing this job has taught me, nothing is by coincidence. You were in that specific building. An American in the Netherlands, with a nebulous connection to the Avengers. Rescued by a different former Avenger, at just the right moment. No, nothing is by chance,” he tilts his head, studying her curiously.

Darcy wets her lips, frowning. It’s not something she’d ever considered, personally, as she felt completely irrelevant to anything related to the Avengers. Despite working in the Avengers Tower, both of her interactions with disaster only came knocking directly on her door with Thor and SHIELD.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispers.

The man gives a slight smile as if slightly amused by her.

“I would find it highly humorous if Rogers was jumping through these hoops for nothing. So, my dear, it doesn’t really matter if you are his Match or not. He seems to think so, because why else would he go to such predictable lengths? Not that it matters now, he has no way of finding you here.”

Darcy eyes the man warily.

“Who are you?”

He grins a moment. “It’s not very important, is it?”

“Depends on if you feel scared or not,” Darcy whispers back furiously.

“In that case, my name is Hector,” he nods his head in a bow, standing up to walk closer to her bed. He reaches over to her left hand digging a large thumb into the palm of it. Darcy hisses, pain being reminded into the wound that she’s not had an opportunity to check.

“Your friend Foster’s theory on portals is very interesting. I was glad it was successful, and I hope with more time we will be able to perfect it and not have quite such dire physical abuse from the journey. You took quite a beating. And even from Wakanda, where we’re just now finding out how much obscuring they’ve managed,” Hector smiles again, patting her hand. “You made such a golden opportunity. So many questions answered.”

With that statement, he leaves the room.

Darcy feels perplexed. It is nice to have confirmation of Tony and Vision’s ignorance in sending her but just makes her feel sick to her stomach realizing the chances of her ever agreeing to set foot in an Avengers Initiative _anything_ is now nil. If these captors have the approval to coordinate missions and access to Jane's research, they were some sort of division of the Accords. She'd be getting Jane out of that Tower if it killed her if she actually managed to survive this experience.

She knows Hector is trying to frighten her, speaking of her frailty and hurting her injury, but she feels a righteous indignation flow throughout her. She had expected this, which is why she spent so much time trying to persuade Tony to get out of the Accords but hadn’t anticipated being caught in the middle of it. Tony had joined at the beginning in good faith that leaders would be responsible and use their pooled tools to help the world. A wave of exasperation flows through her as yet again, something sacred to her friends, no matter how damaged they may be, keeps getting fucked up.

 


	12. Chapter 12

“Tony.”

Tony Stark startles, turning around from the dark window he had just stepped up to in his office, frowning instantly at seeing Steve standing in a darkened corner of the room. Steve steps forward, in a tactical suit that’s seen better days with it’s ripped off star visible.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the hell are you doing here, Rogers? I thought you were in Wakanda!” Tony demands, blustering at the insult of Steve being able to access his office in the Tower without a sensor going off.

“FRIDAY, lock the floor down,” Tony barks out, walking to the side of the room where Steve assumes he keeps one of his suits just in case. Steve sighs.

“I’m not here to fight you, Tony.”

“Oh, well, then leave your pamphlet at the door. I’m sure I’ll get around to clearing it out in a few weeks,” Tony glares at him, already turning to leave. “I’m sure Ross will be interested to know you’re here, though, so I’ll send him right over.”

“Someone took Darcy,” Steve states, which causes Tony to stop on his tracks.

“ _What?_ ” he spins around, angry face blending into disbelieving horror. “ _How?_ ”

“I don’t really know how and you’re pretty much the only one with the direct resources to help me find her,” Steve says in a quiet voice, hoping to not incite any ire.

“What do you care? Wouldn’t it make things much easier for you if she isn’t under political asylum in Wakanda?” Tony eyes him in distrust. “Oh, god, don’t tell me you actually _like_ her?”

Steve remains silent.

“Should have never listened to Pepper, really shouldn’t have, even if Darcy was clearly...” Tony breaks off the spoken thought, voice shifting into a chortle, shaking his head. “FRIDAY, ignore the lockdown. What do you have, Rogers? Other than another knife for my back.”

Steve knows this meeting is going to be hard. There is no apology to go over, as everything between them is too bruised to get through without time. But he promised himself to remain calm, remain passive, Tony would not get a rise out of him, because _Darcy needed him._

Pulling out a USB drive from his pocket, Steve places the device that T’Challa had given him before he left on the desk, remembering Tony’s aversion to being handed things. Tony snatches it instantly, pressing it into a slot.

“What am I looking at here?” he asks gruffly as the silent video begins to play.

“Training room in Wakanda. She and Natasha were having a, erm, discussion.”

Tony keeps his eyes on the screen, frowning as Darcy hits the mat in the footage, bitterly replying. “Yeah, I see that.”

The video progresses with the burst of light and Tony swears. He rips the USB instantly out of the slot causing the video to disappear and walks towards the elevator. Steve frowns, following him, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice as he yells at FRIDAY for a lift.

Steve steps behind Tony as it opens, there’s an awkward moment where Tony almost looks like he wants to order him off, but shakes his head to himself. The ride is silent after Tony gives his direction.

“Foster!” Tony yells as he exits the conveyance, stepping into a set of labs that Steve recognizes at once. These were the labs that he remembers Tony and Bruce spent ages in, fiddling with their technology that honestly escaped him.

Jane Foster pops up from behind a computer monitor shooting a quick glare at Tony before returning her attention back to the screen in front of her.

“What? This is _not_ a good time!” she snaps at him. Steve carefully steps out of the elevator, a surprising shiver of amusement hitting him as he realizes that Darcy had not sugar coated how much the petite brunette detested Tony.

“Let me guess, your readings are off the charts because of something and you want to know who what how?” Tony angrily says.

Jane pokes her head around the computer again.

“How did you know? You’ve never…” Jane catches sight of Steve, eyes widening. She jumps up from behind the desk, banging her hip as she rushes around it to stand in front of Steve.

“ _You!_ ” she screams up in Steve’s face, who lifts his hands in surrender. “Where’s Darcy?”

Steve points to Tony, who is frowning at Foster with a peculiar expression on his face. “She was, er, grabbed. He has the footage.”

Jane’s face wobbles for a moment before a steely look graces her features and she turns to Tony.

“Show me.”

“Wait, who the fuck is that, Foster?” Tony points to the ground where a woman is passed out cold, and Jane snorts.

“Kochanski. She’s been shadowing me all day, and right as the readings went crazy, came at me with a syringe,” Jane mutters angrily, grabbing a taser to wave around that had been resting by her keyboard to wave at Tony. “If you hadn’t been bellowing the moment you came out of the elevator, you’d have gotten fifty thousand volts too.”

“A syringe? Of what?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t have time to inspect it properly before I injected her with it. If it was good enough for me, I figured it was fine for her. She’s still breathing, but hasn’t moved in a couple of hours,” Jane shrugs nonchalantly. “I wasn’t planning on sticking around by the time she woke up. Now, can you actually show me?”

Steve checks the fortunately steady pulse on the woman, curious, and then inspects the syringe that’s completely clean of markings. Tony looks downright perturbed by the developments, but inserts the USB drive and pulls the footage on a screen, which Jane watches with a determined eye. When the portal splits open and Darcy gets grabbed, she gasps in horror.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Jane begins to murmur under her breath.

“Where’d she go, Foster?” Tony asks. “As soon as I saw that damn tear, I knew it had to do with your research.”

“They had to have been so fucking _precise_ to make that work, holy fuck,” Jane begins to mutter to herself in a low voice. “The timing would have had to be perfect, and the calculations for her point of space and time…”

“Slow down. How many calculations are you talking about here?” Tony asks. Steve is frowning between the pair of them, feeling rather lost.

“They had to know the exact trajectory of her placement on Earth, Tony. Gravitational pull, the trajectory of the planets turn, time as in that exact moment. That’s why they called her because if she didn’t answer, they’d have had to re-calibrate it for when her phone moved to the next spot, take the next best guess…” Jane continues. “Can you even trace her phone anymore? I doubt it survived the trip.”

Tony alerts FRIDAY to begin trying, frowning.

“Why would anyone do this to Darcy?” he asks. Jane shrugs, shooting Steve a dirty look.

“Right now, all I can tell you that that is literally what my research currently theorizes on doing. So, whoever it is, it’s in house,” Jane says, turning her glare to Tony.

“What?” Tony looks aghast.

“I’ve had these assholes," Jane bumps the unconscious woman on the floor with her foot. "Sniffing around my research constantly ever since Darcy left for Nigeria, and I swear to god Tony if this is why and she’s injured somewhere...” Jane cuts off, looking like she's blinking back tears.

“No, I can do this. I have the readings, I can at least give you a general idea of where it might have ended up,” Jane shakes herself, typing furiously on her computer. “Assuming she survived the trip.”

“She’s alive,” Steve firmly says. “I know.”

“How exactly do you know that, Rogers?” Tony bitterly asks. Steve shakes his head.

“They sent confirmation. She wasn’t well, but she was alive.”

“I would imagine not,” Jane calls out from her station. “My theory is just in the beginning stages. Who knows how stable that was and what damage she’s suffered due to it.”

“What sort of damage?” Steve asks, alarmed. Jane turns to give him a sharp assessing look.

“I don’t know, it’s still a theory, and I haven’t even gotten to the experimentation phase to see what we’re even looking at. But from just glancing at it, I’d assume high electricity shock, for one. But I’m an astrophysicist, not a medical doctor,” Jane grumbles, sending a withering glance at him. A few moments pass as she turns back to type on her computer until she huffs and turns back to glare at Steve.

“Why?” she demands suddenly.

“Why what?” Steve replies with a stoic expression to not give away the alarm that lights up his spine.

“You know exactly what,” Jane gives the barest of glances to Tony, disdain clouding her features. If he wasn’t so terrified of giving the wrong answer, in the wrong form in front of Tony, he’d be impressed by her loyalty to Darcy.

Steve sighs.

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve begins.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, _what_ wasn’t like what? How the hell do you know Steve, Foster?” Tony interjects, much to Steve’s chagrin.

“I don’t,” Jane bites out, continuing to glare at the both of them. “And don’t plan to. Calculations are almost done, you should be within a few miles of her.”

“A few miles? Not good enough, Foster,” Tony snaps. “FRIDAY, how’s her phone looking?”

“No response,” the smooth female voice says.

“We could cross-reference it with old known SHIELD and HYDRA bunkers, Tony,” Steve mutters.

“FRIDAY, do that. You still have the old SHIELDRA dump, right?” Tony pulls out his phone, swiping around furiously. Jane hisses a quiet, “yes!”

“She’s in Philadelphia. Looks near the river,” Jane pulls up the location on a map, a circle outlined. “Keep in mind the disturbance could be just as deep as this perimeter is wide, so you could be heading deep underground.”

“Alright, Foster, good work. We’ll see you later,” Tony begins to walk away, but Jane grabs the taser and points it at his back.

“I swear to god Tony Stark, I will drop you right there if you _dare_ leave me here,” she hisses at him. “My friend is out there, quite possibly incapacitated, due to my research, and you think I’ll just putter around here knitting?”

_Darcy really, really wasn’t exaggerating,_ Steve thinks to himself, _small and mighty, no wonder Thor was so proud of her._

“I can’t exactly heft you on my shoulder in the suit, Foster,” Tony grinds out, looking exasperated.

“She can ride with us, Natasha piloted our ship,” Steve offers, which causes Tony to glare at him. Steve shrugs, and Jane snatches a duffle that had been resting under the desk. She types a few things into the computer before grabbing the taser and nods at Steve.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Darcy wakes up, it’s to the blaring horn of a klaxon alarm. She takes the moment to assess her surroundings, finding herself alone. Grabbing the glasses they used on her before from the side table, she slides them on her nose slowly, looking around the room. Ripping the IV out of her arm and disconnecting herself from the machines, she finds that she’s able to stand with a bit of a hobble like her legs have forgotten how to hold weight.

She hisses in pain, pins and needles everywhere on her body. Adrenaline pumping, she stumbles over to the door and peers out of the tiny window, seeing red lights spinning and someone rushing down the hall towards hers. Darcy’s never been so glad for being short, hiding behind the door.

Mandy pushes through it, where Darcy is waiting with her newly minted Natasha fist and throws all of her shakey weight into the brunette woman’s face with it. Mandy hits her head against the metal door and drops like a box of rocks, with Darcy tumbling on top of her. There is a resounding clang as the door hits the wall and Darcy peeks out quickly to see if anyone is coming.

“Shit,” Darcy tries to whisper, but her voice is pained and she winces. Pulling Mandy away from the door, she closes it and starts to strip the woman of her lab coat. Tugging with shaking hands on the woman's sleeves alerts Darcy to the syringe filled with liquid hiding in Mandy’s hand and she is highly tempted to kick the woman for good measure.

_Thought to keep me sedated, huh? Well, fuck you very much, Mandy._

Darcy puts the syringe aside, quickly divesting Mandy of her lab coat, which she pulls on. She also grabs the rubber shoes that Mandy was wearing which are so big on Darcy’s feet she feels like she’s wearing clown shoes. Snagging the access card, she grabs the syringe again to stuff both into her coat's pocket, brushing down her hair to hopefully something not too suspicious.

Peeking out of the doorway again, the hallway is empty but red light alarms are still spinning. She begins to pad as carefully as she can with her too big shoes, attempting to look natural for the cameras she spies in some corners.

At the end of the hallway, she finds a desk, which she presumes is for a guard of some sort, deserted. Fortunately, behind it is a small cabinet filled more empty syringes and locked medications, and even a taser. _What sort of janky hospital is this?_ Darcy wonders to herself.

Snatching the taser, she pockets it and continues to the door with an access panel. Swiping Mandy’s card, she breathes a sigh of relief as the door immediately opens. Darcy grabs the taser in her right hand to peer around carefully.

The next corridor is still bare of people. _What the Mew-mew is happening? Where is everyone?_

She meanders carefully through the halls, feet slipping in the too big shoes and her adrenaline pushing her pain to the back corners of her mind. Her left hand is throbbing so she lifts it up by her heart, but the rest of the pain is manageable.

Darcy comes upon a door, peering inside the small window, noticing a plethora of computer equipment and wonders if this is the heart of the building. There’s a man with a wiry build inside typing away in a lab coat, so Darcy quietly edges the door open. He doesn’t turn.

“Do you know what the fuss is about, Keith?” he calls out. Darcy aims her taser at him without hesitating and fires.

The problem with tasers is that just because someone is temporarily incapacitated, doesn’t mean they automatically pass out. His muscles seize up as he twitches in his seat, and the electrical feed only lasts about ten seconds before Darcy hisses in annoyance at the taser finishing its only charge.

_If only I had my regular one!_

The guy shakes himself, trying to get his bearings, but she dashes forward, nearly tripping over her shoes. Grabbing the closest thing next to her, a keyboard, she slams it across his face. The blow to the head causes him to fall out of his chair and clip his temple on a desk edge. His body drops onto the floor effectively knocked out. Darcy breathes a sigh of relief.

She drops the taser and sets the keyboard back down on the desk, surprised that it didn’t rip out of its socket connected to the computer. With a shaking hand, she grabs the mouse and begins to inspect the screen. The file on the screen is about a mission and Darcy isn't surprised to see a picture of Steve Rogers immediately.

_What are they doing?_

Clicking through the file, she sees multiple points. The most glaring note is a giant text of OCTOBER 8TH, 2017. The photo pinned on top of all the others is of that damned early morning in Amsterdam with Steve carrying her out. That leads her to the next point of interest, an outdated picture of herself taken by SHIELD, with the words ‘Match probability 85%’.

_What the fuck?_

Digging into the file, she sees the stamp of approval with a signature by Hector, which outlines an array of missions. One is for the team to gather any information on Steve Rogers after he disappeared in Germany, displaying a progressively more rugged Steve in different areas of the world, eventually unearthing the photo of Amsterdam. The mission after that Darcy can barely understand what she’s reading, but she definitely understands ‘secure potential Match.’

_How the hell did they know before I did? This is what prompted them to lock down on Janey, to threaten me from leaving? I thought it was to secure her for Thor..._

Darcy’s head is spinning, a headache pushing through the fear that’s been coursing through her. A large explosion makes her look up, shuddering as the concrete above her loosens dust into the air, and she grasps around the desks looking for a USB drive to start downloading the info. Fortunately, there’s a half dozen or so in one of the drawers and she plugs it in, beginning to pull large chunks of any data she can onto it.

She reads of the purposeful leaking of the photo, which explains that weird Wednesday release to ‘make him aware of the possibility’. Darcy feels disgusted that they were purposefully baiting him but then sighs as she realizes Steve played right into it. He did come to Lagos and had ignored every other attempt of a rendezvous before. Clicking on her own profile, wondering how deep their investigations went into her life, she pales at one of the most recent results.

_Results for Darcy Marie Lewis -_ probability _of DNA paternity 99.635% - Anthony Edward Stark_

“What the _Frigga fuck,_ ” she croaks, instantly regretting it as her throat shivers in pain and she begins to cough. Alarmed at the noise she makes, she pads over to the door to peer out. No one is there, but she feels a pressing need to get out of there.

Running back to the computer, she stares at the words in absolute confusion. She notices it is downloading a sizeable chunk of info and is tapping her foot when she hears decided bang of a door down the corridor. Darcy frowns and grabs the first thing from her pocket, the syringe, and scurries back to the door as quietly as possible, crouching down. The door begins to silently open with a slightly dirty bared forearm right there for her to strike.

Darcy doesn’t hesitate, stabbing up into the arm with the syringe, pressing the plunger to completion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how Jane and Darcy both have the impulse to kick the needle happy women.
> 
> and I am having a bear of a time finishing the last chapter, thank goodness I still have a week. almost daily updates are still happening!


	13. Chapter 13

Darcy grits her teeth, ready to scurry away from the door to avoid the inevitable drop of the body after she administers the syringe. She has firsthand experience with how fast that particular drug works, thanks to Mandy.

“ _Fuck!_ ” the man yells who owns said arm, who she instantly realizes is _Steve_. He stumbles the rest of the way into the room, almost tripping on her crouched gobsmacked form, glancing at his arm and then Darcy in mild confusion.

“Darcy! Jesus, how did you end up here?” his voice is alarmed. “Are you okay? You stabbed me.”

“ _Steve?_ Where did you come from?” she whispers painfully, feeling absolutely horrified. “They said you wouldn't be able to find me!”

Despite the horror that Darcy feels, she can’t deny the sudden relief of seeing someone who doesn’t have a disturbing agenda or desire to kill her. Standing up, she inspects his arm, finding the syringe already dropped to the floor. He shakes his head at the medication begins to kick in, chortling.

“You stabbed me. Peggy shot me. We’ll work you up to that. I’ve definitely earned it.”

Darcy begins shaking her head as he waves her concern away.

“Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in a bit, nothing like that lasts long on me,” Steve is looking positively delighted with amused eyes, which Darcy is having difficulty mustering up the same sort of optimism about the situation. “What was in that? But why are you here? I thought you were further down. Are you okay?”

“I disabled my keepers,” she whispers, but it comes out light and raspy. “They kept using that shit on me, keeping me sedated, so I feel like shit, to be honest, but…”

“Y’know, you’re beautiful. Especially when you stab me,” he interrupts her while his lips twist into a smile and he leans down into her space.

Darcy eyes him warily, knowing they’re short on time and really not wanting to think about what he’s rambling about under the influence of medication, considering their last solitary interaction. She tries to dart around him towards the computer to take the USB drive, however, Steve grabs her arm to keep her from moving past him. With a gentle tug, she finds herself in his arms with his hands cradling her jaw. Darcy freezes, eyes wide and blinking furiously, a new rush of adrenaline pulsing through her.

“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” he murmurs. “I barely know you and I adore you.”

His fingers are tangling in her hair, blue eyes peering down into her as he leans his forehead against hers.

“I do really know this is probably a terrible time, but fuck it, you stabbed me,” Steve chuckles again.

“You thought I didn’t want you? You’re wanted, Darcy, oh, so very much,” he whispers the words, and she feels her stomach drop in that bittersweet feeling of a terrifying plunge right before soaring joy as he presses his lips against hers.

Her eyes shut as she feels the floor drop away from her as he adjusts and gathers her unsteadily yet gently up with one arm. Caressing her lips with his own, Steve trails fingertips from his other hand around her ear and down her wrapped neck. A strange lightness of being grows inside of her as he proceeds to gently nibble her lips, which causes Darcy to whimper slightly as she opens to him. He takes his time, delicately running his tongue against her own as if not completely assured of his welcome, which she responds to without hesitation. She cards her right hand through the side of Steve’s hair, her mind going blissfully blank, forgetting her surroundings. Releasing a small sigh, her mark tingles with relief, and a strange sort of pressure settles inside of her, like the release when a key slides perfectly into a lock.

“God, Steve, I asked if you _liked_ her, not if you wanted to eat her.”

Darcy jumps, turning to see Tony in his full Iron Man suit sans helmet, and her eyes go wide again. Steve continues to rub his nose against her cheek towards her ear, a litany of ‘want you, want you, want you,’ under his breath, beard tickling her. A sudden burst of embarrassment flows over Darcy, utter mortification at being caught in such a position niggling with shame for most likely taking advantage of Steve during his impairment.

“Rogers, please. I can only handle so much. We need to get out of here. What did you do to him, Half Pint?” Tony frowns at her and she tenses at the nickname, pointing to the syringe that had fallen to the floor out of Steve’s arm. She tries to extricate herself unsuccessfully from Steve’s embrace while Tony picks up the medication and has the suit scan it.

“Oh. That’d do it. C’mon, Rogers, let’s get the lady back to safety, shall we?” Tony grabs Steve’s arm to pull him from Darcy, but she gets yanked along with Steve’s grasp. She hisses in pain, smacking Steve’s chest to have him let her go. Steve’s face turns into an expression like a wounded puppy, but he finally acquiesces, letting Tony put his arm over the metal man’s shoulder towards the door.

“You gotta fry the system, Tony, unless you want another wormhole eating someone else up,” Darcy hoarsely says as she snags the USB from the console, brain shutting down the internal screaming in her head about the information she had just gleaned about Tony’s relationship to her. “And for the record, I don’t recommend using them, it hurts like fuck.”

“Explosion work, or does it have to go further?” he asks.

“Gotta burn it from the server up. Otherwise, they’ll just do something similar again,” Darcy whispers. “Mew-mew knows if Jane will ever forgive me.”

Tony sighs, popping out an arm to shoot a tab into the system. It clinks onto the metal and begins to circuit into the electrical parts, blinking rapidly. A large explosion shakes the ceiling, and Darcy frowns up at it.

“Time to go,” Tony pulls on Steve and Darcy scurries to follow them. “I’ll destroy on the road.”

“Where are we even at?” she asks.

“Philadelphia. Foster was able to trace the disturbance from the Tower since it was so close, I assume,” Tony says, and Steve shakes his head.

“I helped. I mentioned SHIELDRA bunkers!” Steve grins at her. Darcy pats his arm.

“Good job, Rogers,” she whispers. “Where are we headed?”

“Steve came in a ship so we’re heading up there. Natasha’s been providing a mild distraction so we could get in here without too much interference,” Tony grumbles. “I would like if Ross doesn’t know of my involvement, as I have it on good authority that putting him on hold only goes so far.”

Darcy snorts.

“I guess we should be glad Steve is at least standing, huh?” Tony mutters. Darcy glares at him.

“I didn’t expect to see you guys!” she hisses.

“Darcy’s magnificent, Tony, did you know?” Steve says, letting go of Tony to try and grab Darcy closer to him as they stumble along. “My Match is totally worth the hundred years wait.”

Tony eyes Steve grimly before frowning at Darcy. She’s pushing Steve back to a more reasonable position and concedes to letting him hold her hand.

“That true, Darcy?” the man in the red metal suit asks quietly. “Go fucking figure.”

“Ross knows,” Darcy whispers. “So it doesn’t really matter what you figure. As far as I can tell, this whole setup here has been the making of years of work.”

“How many?” Steve asks, demeanor suddenly sobering.

Just as quickly as he was dosed, the effects seem to be wearing off. Steve is already starting to get his balance back properly, the medicine burning through faster than even Darcy expected. He’s abruptly surefooted and helps Darcy over bodies on the ground. There are a plethora of people dropped in seeming random places, and Darcy is careful to not step on any fingers. It looks like the pair of men escorting her blasted through two of the concrete walls on their way in, and bullet holes are rippled everywhere. They find a staircase and begin to climb.

“Ever since you broke out the gang from the Raft. They were scouring whatever they could to find out what were you doing…” Darcy breaks off softly, a sort of sleepy wave hitting her as her adrenaline suddenly drops, and she trips on a step in her oversized shoes.

Steve ducks under her arm in a motion she can’t quite follow, and the next moment she realizes, her legs are over his other arm and she’s being carried by him, face nestled into the high collar of his tactical suit. Her body is exhausted from her trial and while the pain is building as medications wear off, she’s also cocooned by the warmth of safety.

“S’like Amsterdam,” she slurs sleepily.

“Damn it, Half Pint,” Tony grumbles from behind them. “You’re a mess.”

Darcy wants to stick her tongue out at him, but mumbles instead.

“I’ve been sedated for so many hours, I’m sick of sleep. Don’t let me fall asleep, okay?” she rubs her forehead. “Too much info, head hurts, I don’t wanna think anymore.”

“I’m sure Natasha can find you something to help with the pain on the ship,” Steve mumbles. “We’re almost there. Do you know what happened to you?”

“I slid through a wormhole like Wade Wells. I’m not in an alternate dimension, am I?” Darcy whimpers. “It hurt so Frigga much.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Steve sends a confused look to Tony, who sighs.

“Honestly, Rogers, I have no idea how _she_ knows who that is, she had to be like five when _Sliders_ came out…” Tony grumbles before turning an alarmed look up as they hear another explosion go off outside the building.

“You good now?” Tony asks, referencing Steve’s sudden sobriety. “I’ll go check that out.”

Steve nods, but Tony has already replaced his helmet and is blasting through a window on his jetted feet to scope out the action.

“Climbin’ up this time ‘nsteadda down,” Darcy whispers, hazily bringing up a hand to brush her fingertips against his beard. “You wer’ fuzzy then too.”

 

* * *

 

Steve thought that the walk out of the building in Amsterdam had been distracting. That her little form with her delicious curves that he couldn’t seem to ignore meant he was the biggest creep to exist, even if he had been rescuing her. But this time, with her body resting in his arms, the memory of her wrapped up with him just a few minutes previously is severely reminding him of what a cad he actually is.

Darcy had seemed uncertain of him and he had to take the opportunity to make himself absolutely clear. How his body flooded with relief at finding her. How, despite the mild shock of it, her attack on him was actually kind of hot. Especially when Steve felt like he deserved it, not that violence was a particularly great answer. It was an understandable response, between surprising her when she expected enemies, and when he had realized how unintentionally cruel he’d been to her. Steve had to tell her right then how important she was and it was glorious. No matter how slightly hazy his intentions had begun, the world narrowing down to her luscious lips was amazing. There is nothing he can compare to coming down on a high of finally being able to kiss Darcy.

“I ‘unno, Steve, Ross seems mighty fixed on you. You were right,” Darcy mumbles into his neck. “I am a trap.”

He feels a shiver goes down his spine as her whispered voice reverbs against his neck, and wonders how extensive her injuries actually are.

“It’s fine, Darcy, they always underestimate what they need to bring me in. Hell, even Tony couldn’t snag me and he has a bunch of tricks up his sleeve,” Steve replies, kicking open the door to the roof.

He freezes.

There, in the middle of the roof, stands Tony pointing his palm at the ship which Bucky occupies, who’s watching him from behind a sight of an automatic rifle. Steve is direly reminded of that strange missile silo room in Siberia, standing between the two of them while Tony’s emotions deteriorated. But he can’t interject this time with his Match in his arms. He glances to see Natasha frowning from the hatch of the ship's cabin, Jane peering around from the edge of the door.

“Oh, for Frigga’s sake,” Darcy lifts her head to see what caused Steve to stop. “Tony, _put that away_. Are you going to blast my ride?”

The command causes her voice to break and she starts coughing. Tony flinches as he hears her call out to him, but stands firm. Steve takes a few steps closer to the ship, eyeing Tony warily. Darcy wiggles to get down out of Steve’s arms and he sighs but complies with her. He tries to grab her from walking forward, but she slaps his hand away and hobbles to stand directly in front of Tony’s lit up palm.

“I didn’t think you’d be so stupid to actually _bring_ murder boy with you, Rogers,” Tony bites out, glaring at Bucky around her.

“Oh, this is _not the time_ , Tony!” Darcy hisses as Natasha calls over her. “Steve, we got more company heading here in about two minutes, we need to go.”

“You guys can’t go anywhere, _he_ needs to be locked up before more innocent people die,” Tony yells, finally putting his arm down to gesture with his hands.

“ _He_ is doing his job. What are _you_ doing but stalling us?” Darcy snarls the reply.

“He’s killed people, Darcy!” Tony yells back at her. “With that murder arm!”

“ _So have you!_ ” she hisses. “Just as unintentionally with that _murder suit!_ ”

Tony flinches, looking down with a furious glare. Steve can almost see him re-calculating his argument. Darcy stares at Tony with steely eyes.

“I can’t let you go with them, it isn’t safe. I came to get you, not be an accessory to them kidnapping you again! They’re the ones who let you get snatched in the first place!”

“No, _Ross_ is. It’s under his orders that an asshat named Hector’s been hunting Steve and subsequently _me!_ ” Darcy shrieks, her voice crackling, and her form wavers. She notices a presence next to her, glancing and seeing Jane. The astrophysicist had stalked from the ship to take Darcy’s arm and help steady her.

“Jane,” Darcy breathes out in obvious relief at finding her friend safe, but Jane’s glaring attention is aimed at Tony.

“Hector?” Tony frowns. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He dangled me like a carrot, Tony, on the line held by a very dangerous hand,” Darcy whispers. “Did you send me to Lagos, or did he?”

“I mentioned you as a possibility before he took over planning, Pepper’s been-” Tony breaks off, shaking his head, motioning to Steve. “Wait, did Pepper know of that little development?”

“I don’t know. To be honest, Tony, I don’t know anything anymore,” Darcy sighs, voice dropping to a lower whisper. “But I will not step foot in another Avengers facility while it’s just the new and improved lapdog of corrupt leaders who refuse to acknowledge the doom at our doorstep.”

“They know, Darcy, which is why we sent you, to prepare-” Tony begins, but Darcy shakes her head furiously.

“I have Jane, they can’t keep us anymore. Frankly, I’m terrified of what they’ll do to her if I don’t come back. Put her in stasis until Thor comes back? Better guard Pepper, Tony, or they’ll _make_ you heel.”

Darcy steps back with Jane, looking sad at Tony’s crestfallen expression. As soon as they make it to the ship, she turns to glare at Steve and the stationary Bucky, who still hasn’t lowered his weapon.

“ _March soldiers!_ ” she hisses at them, startling both of them back up into the ship, Bucky finally lowering his weapon. Steve can see her countenance slowly cracking, Jane squeezing her arm gently in concern. Natasha is already hopping into the pilot seat, beginning takeoff procedures. The hatch is slowly closing and he can see Tony struggle with himself.

“I said another knife, didn’t I?” he yells at the ship which causes Steve to wince. Darcy notices this and screams out over the wind as the hatch closes.

“Yeah, but _your daughter_ threw it!”

The words echo loudly throughout the cabin as it seals shut. A soft hum is joined by a whooshing sound of the wind as they all try to keep their balance as Natasha accelerates quickly. The lights dim as if a stealth mode has been activated. Jane grabs a wobbling Darcy, who looks clearly exhausted, tears already budding in her eyes.

_What? Daughter?_

“I shouldn't have said that, oh Mew-mew, I wasn't going to say anything, but he always wants the last word and I had to whack him at the knees or he would just try to follow us…” Darcy is mumbling to herself. “It’s probably just a Ross lie, but what are the chances? Hector was right, no coincidences for us, just a strange roller coaster of impossibilities…”

Similar confused thoughts ping around Steve’s head for a second before he shoves them aside, stepping forward to help Jane get Darcy into a seat. He carefully buckles her in around her bandages, concerned as he can see tears leak out of her eyes, but she falls silent as she allows him to fasten her in.

“I’ve got it, Rogers,” Jane grumbles, shooing him away and he backs up. He wants nothing more than to comfort Darcy, but he has a feeling he’d be rebuffed even if he tried.

Darcy holds up her hand to him, the tail end of a USB drive peeking through her fingers.

“Here. I stole as much as I could,” she whispers, leaning her head on Jane’s shoulder. “Oh, Janey, I’ve ruined it all.”

Jane begins to shush her as Steve takes the drive out of her hand. “Shhh, no, you didn’t.”

“I had Tony destroy it all. I don’t know how much we’ll be able to recover from our hazy 48-hour sessions, Jane,” Darcy wipes her face, looking surprised at the wetness accumulated on her fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Psh, I made backups,” Jane nods over at a duffle secured under a bulkhead. “You don’t know how obnoxious Kochanski was, and so I figured it couldn’t hurt to prepare after you left. Especially after that info about Amsterdam Asshole came out and I couldn’t reach you.”

Steve can feel Jane’s glare from across the cabin as he plugs the device in. Information begins to instantly download, and his eyebrows shoot up at the names of the mission locations that are in a familiar pattern of his past adventures. He can’t help but hear, just as he knows Natasha and Bucky are doing, the conversation going in the back of the cabin.

“What was it like, Darcy?” Jane asks quietly, looking over Darcy’s body, assessing the number of bandages. “I can’t believe you survived that wormhole, it barely looked stable which explains why Kochanski was so eager for my latest calculations…”

“For one smothering moment, Jane, I was nothing, if nothing could feel like absolute completeness. Weightless, without sight, just hints of the place I was not existing. But then I came all the way through and there was the unforgivable crush of _everything_ again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I really do like Tony, I promise. Guy has it rough. :(


	14. Chapter 14

The flight back to Wakanda passes in a blur for Darcy. Since she had been sedated for hours, she really doesn’t want to sleep, but she only manages a few minutes speaking with Jane before feeling the edges of dozing slumber calling. Perhaps it’s because Jane won’t leave her side, glaring at any of the heroes who dare get near that makes her relax enough to manage even that.

“She needs _rest_!” Jane hisses, which brings Darcy to a sudden awareness.

“And she will have rest, just not sleep,” Natasha says in a similarly quiet voice from the other side of Darcy. “Unless they managed to grab her chart plucking her out of there, we don’t know anything about her injuries, and frankly, I’d rather her not fall into a coma because we weren’t keeping her awake. Darcy.”

Darcy moans in reply, her head pounding and mouth dry.

“You need to wake up, Darcy. We have a long trip back, and Shuri will need to look at you,” Natasha gently says, and Darcy feels a water bottle get pressed in her hand.

“They kept me sedated for ages, Natasha, I’m sure it won’t hurt…” Darcy mumbles through closed eyes.

“And they had proper medical equipment to keep you from slipping anywhere else,” Natasha replies softly. “Or were willing to risk it.”

This makes Darcy sit forward, rubbing her forehead as she squints, looking around. She sees Natasha and Jane eyeing each other up from either side of her, Bucky in the pilot's seat while Steve sits next to him in the copilot seat, staring at his station.

“ _Fine_. Eugh, my head feels like a watermelon after a Gallagher show,” Darcy whines as she feels Jane unseal the water bottle. Natasha drops a few pills in her hand. Darcy takes the moment to swallow them before guzzling some of the water.

“You’d be proud, Natasha, I laid Mandy out like the bitch she is with the fist you showed me,” Darcy gasps after she finishes her drink. “And that bitch was freaky. What happened after I, uh, left?”

Natasha eyes Darcy’s hand which has a telltale sign of knuckles bruising before sighing.

“Shuri took some readings, but they couldn’t pinpoint where they went. You were too far. Foster here was a more efficient way to locate you,” Natasha eyes Jane, who’s expression sharpens in that terrifying way that only science seems to prompt.

“It was fascinating, Darcy, how the spectrometer just _lit up_ , but then Kochanski came at me with a god awful needle. Fortunately, I had Lucky nearby and he took care of her,” Jane says with a shrug. “I did tell you things were tense, didn’t I?”

“I’m glad you listened to me, Janey,” Darcy frowns at the thought of her friend needing to use Lucky.

“Who’s Lucky?” Barnes interjects from the cockpit, peering around his seat at them. Steve still has his back to them, staring at his screen, which causes Darcy to feel a wave of resignation.

“My taser. Tony upgraded it for me after he heard I was Thor’s downfall once,” Darcy rasps out. “He’s been waiting for me to try it on Thor since, but obviously Thor hasn't been back for longer than a sneeze. I honestly thought it was an effort to get in _your_ good graces, Jane, because nothing says ‘please stop hating me’ like a gift that gives you the means to tase your ex in the balls if they ever should reappear. Although, I think Tony forgot Thor is the God of Thunder.”

“He could have just upgraded the van, it would have been more useful for research than your little toy,” Jane mutters. “Bet Tony regrets it now, though.”

“Why?” Darcy asks quietly.

“I threatened him with it.”

“What, when?” Darcy rubs her brow.

“Like, hours ago? He was going to _leave me there_ , Darcy, in the Tower after he and Rogers showed up to ask for help finding you. Even after finding Kochanski on the floor, realizing all this shit is because of his nannies, but I'm supposed to stay put? Screw that,” Jane says, folding her arms and looking annoyed. “It’s why I started backing things up and hopefully, if I did it right, that little contingency exit program we were working on will be eating through their system.”

“Won’t FRIDAY notice?” Darcy asks, frowning. “We couldn’t figure out how to work it around her before.”

“Ha, that was _before_ Kochanski’s access card unlocked the door to the Accords back end systems,” Jane says smugly, looking proud of herself.

Darcy stares at her friend. Natasha is giving Jane a critical look as if assessing the amount of damage she could cause, and Bucky’s eyebrows are raised.

“So, Darcy, I was about to leave anyway,” Jane shrugs.

 

* * *

 

They land in Wakanda greeted by a team of doctors prepared as the hatch opens. Darcy finds herself bustled onto a gurney despite her weak protests and Jane follows her after the both of them are introduced to the Princess.

Darcy only gives Shuri the most polite of sleepy nods, trying to catch a glimpse of Steve before he disappears. He had been removed the entire trip home, sitting in his seat almost gloomily, but Darcy couldn’t find it in herself to call him out on it. There is an insecure thread lining her thoughts, wondering if perhaps he regretted his choices while drugged, no matter how quickly it wore off. That idea causes her gut to roil with shame. Or perhaps the revelation of her potential connection to Tony is causing second thoughts.

He watches her from the opening of the ship with a serious expression as she is wheeled away, and she bites her lip. She’s wheeled around a corner as she notices Natasha step up beside him, and they’re both suddenly out of sight.

“Jane,” Darcy whispers to get her friends attention. Jane is looking all around herself in wide-eyed astonishment as they proceed through the building. Darcy’s not sure what she wants to say, a forlorn feeling overcoming her for a moment.

“What, Darcy?”

“I’m glad you’re here. I missed you,” Darcy decides on with a sigh, letting her eyes close. Jane frowns at her thoughtfully but remains silent as she pats Darcy’s hand gently.

By the time they arrive at the gleaming white room with medical equipment, Jane is gaping.

“Waaay better than Asgard, Darcy. Although the Bifrost trip was more fun,” Jane goes over to ask a random person about the equipment. Shuri lets out a small cackle, drawing Darcy’s attention.

“Sorry, she’s kind of a science nut,” Darcy whispers.

“No worries, we like our science here. It is a high compliment that a woman of Dr. Foster’s abilities is so impressed,” Shuri smiles at her before turning serious. “Do you remember what happened?”

Darcy tilts her head, nodding after a moment.

“The air opened up when I was with Natasha. Then I was weightless, floating as nothing… but then was back, and reality was crashing down on me.”

“Well, let me have Dr. Onek do her examination to see how you fare,” Shuri smiles and leads her to a private room where a kindly looking woman greets her.

As they begin the examination, Darcy is glad she doesn’t have a mirror. She slowly removes the lab coat and patient robe that is on her, uncertain of where her clothes from before the incident went. There are large swaths of bandages plastered to her body in strips, but even they do not hide all of the damage. Thin cuts twist down her body in odd weblike strands, leaving her with the realization that she may be scarred for the rest of her life by the experience.

There is no limb that is untouched, from her feet to her shoulders, and even up her neck. The most noticeable is her left hand, the hand that had been holding her phone as it disintegrated. A portion of her skin had turned completely smooth as if the metal had burned off her prints. Her veins had burst open in several areas as well, unable to handle the strain. Lastly, there’s a swirl of a cut that is arched across her hairline on her forehead, and a blast of a star on her left cheek.

Darcy only knows about her face because Dr. Onek takes note of it aloud.

Her hair has shortened in areas, almost like large chunks had been burned off, and suddenly tears don’t seem like such a bad idea.

“You are very lucky, Miss Lewis,” Dr. Onek says, handing her a tissue amidst her redressing the wounds with much more comfortable bandages.

“What? I know,” Darcy nods, ignoring the tears that continue to leak down her face, dripping off her chin. “My head really hurts. Is anything else wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you, you’re just injured. Most of these markings will fade fairly quickly, barely noticeable. Your voice will return in time if you don’t press it too hard. I’m more concerned with your neurological functions, because from what I saw of the strange portal, it looked something akin to electricity, but maybe not quite. We have therapies that can help, but that may take some time,” Dr. Onek smiles reassuringly at her.

Darcy nods. Dr. Onek hands her a new outfit to put on and a small bracelet.

“This bracelet will help us monitor you when you’re on the premises. Since we don’t know the extent of what you were exposed to, it will help if you have an emergency.”

Darcy nods again, Dr. Onek leaving the room to get Jane. Darcy is pulling on a knee length dress as Jane walks in.

“How are you?” she asks, eyes concerned at the sniffles Darcy’s emitting.

“Banged up, really. I just have to have this thing on me to record my readings for a while,” Darcy holds up her wrist with the thin bracelet and lets out a shuddering sigh. “How are you? Remember, we want them to like us, not kick us out.”

“Psh, they’re great. Have you seen their technology? It’s leagues better than at the Tower, and that’s saying something since that stuff was state of the art. Why the hell have they been hiding all this?” Jane muses aloud. “Anyway, I was told they will take us up to our rooms when you’re ready. I guess they gave me a room next to yours?”

Darcy shrugs, shuffling out of the room with Jane. After thanking Dr. Onek and Shuri for their help and promising to keep her bracelet on, a man escorts them up to an area more familiar to Darcy, leaving them at her room.

Jane thanks the man for showing them the way before slipping in with Darcy. Darcy immediately walks over to lay down on the bed, feeling oddly reminded of her first night in the Tower.

“No sledgehammers this time, Janey,” Darcy murmurs. Jane sits down on the bed next to her, brushing her hair away from her face.

“No promises,” Jane whispers as Darcy finally falls into a proper sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Please.”

Steve asks the brunette at the door, who is peering through a crack.

“No. She’s sleeping,” Jane turns back in, shutting the door in his face with a quiet click and Steve sighs. Dropping to the ground next to the doorframe, he leans up against the wall, propping his forearms on his knees.

He had spent a majority of the flight absolutely miserable. He was torn between wanting to get up to hold her, make sure she was real and safe and okay, but then realized that Jane wouldn’t let him near Darcy, as protective as she was. So he brooded, trying to distract himself with the information Darcy had so obligingly provided him.

Reading the information was a mistake, as it did nothing to help his calm.

It outlined how Ross had an entire investigative team devoted to Steve, spearheaded by a man simply known as Hector. There were all sorts of information of places Steve had been spotted, and there was an increase of monitoring around when his Timer was supposed to count down to. They had found Darcy almost as fast as Natasha had, calculating her chances of matching very high. The only reason she had been left alone for so long in New York was that she was under Tony’s notice, and with Jane on the premises, they were both effectively ‘secured’.

But one day a mission was created over the idea of baiting out Steve to bring him home. Steve knows this was because Tony wanted the errant team aware of what was coming, but another mission was also created underneath it. Hector took the opportunity, prompting smaller known newspapers to run a narrative of their fraternization. Draw attention to her existence and the specific day when Steve met her, just in case he didn’t know himself. Large enough to ping alerts, but overlooked by the general public.

When Steve appeared in Lagos to meet her, their Match was considered confirmed. That went onto an entire page on how to go about capturing the both of them, although it went against the comms he had heard whispered into the posing protective detail men’s ears.

“ _Take them both down_.”

Ominous at best, Steve had assumed the worst at the time and secured Darcy’s and his safety.

That little hiccup just sourced into one of the contingency plans, which prompted them to push the media narrative hard and tamp down on Darcy’s traveling abilities. With her effectively cornered in Wakanda, that opened an opportunity to test Dr. Foster’s theory of a type of minor portal that they had been testing on smaller scales. If successful in bringing Darcy back, it could be used in all manner of tactical applications. As soon as her phone had shown proper telemetry of her location, a detail of doctors and skeleton staff of security personnel had been sent to the abandoned psychiatric hospital in Philadelphia to begin calculations.

If unsuccessful, _accidents happened to Matches all the time_.

Steve absorbed this all very quickly, Bucky glancing at him in concern as he could read the fury on his friend's face. But the next file had him crushing his hands into fists to avoid damaging anything.

They were going to _break_ her. Condition her. Pull from all the files, HYDRA or otherwise, they could find on experiments on the human psyche and build a new therapy to change her. From there, a myriad of proposed options had been offered on how to utilize her properly to reel him in. The thought sent such a feeling of revulsion through him, knowing that his firecracker Match had been a breath away from that torture.

But he still didn’t turn around to look at her.

Guilt plagued him, even if he realized objectively that it was all out of his control. He didn’t agree with the Accords, god knows Darcy didn’t either, but she had been tangled up in his life unknowingly and suffered for it.

After they’d landed, he watched her leave the ship to get bundled up onto a gurney and sighed. Natasha had come up next to him as she was wheeled out of sight. Natasha eyed him for one moment before smacking him upside the head.

“Ow, Nat, the hell?” he had cried out.

“Staring at her had been preferable to _ignoring_ her,” Natasha had growled out before leaving.

But honestly, he knew he deserved it. Which is why he’s in front of her room, trying to convince the irate scientist to let him see her friend. He bangs his head against the wall. He should probably try to sleep while he waits, but his thoughts are churning too much as the time passes.

“Hey, man,” Sam appears in front of him hours later with a coffee cup and Steve looks up. “How’s Darcy?”

“I don’t really know, but I assume fairly okay if they released her to her room,” Steve nods his head at the door next to him. “Small and Mighty won’t let me see Darcy, she’s sleeping.”

“Small and Mighty?” Sam asks with a humored expression, sitting down next to him.

“Jane Foster. Terrifying astrophysicist. Currently in possession of a Stark upgraded taser. I will be patient.”

Sam snorts in amusement.

“How did it go?” Sam asks nonchalantly.

“Well, Darcy stabbed me. So I have that going for me,” Steve can’t help but crack a fond smile. “But she thought I was someone else. Hell, I wouldn’t have even gone in that room if I hadn’t heard the whisper of her swearing a moment prior. I peek through the door, and bam, she’s up like a shot from the side of the door, injecting me with the same drugs they’d been putting in her.”

“How long did it last?” Sam replies, eyebrows raised appreciatively.

“Five minutes? I burned through it so quick, but she was horrified since it’d been putting her out for hours at a time. I honestly was tripped up on the fact that she had actually attacked me. Nothing scares her. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time, Sam,” Steve says, a small smile gracing his lips as he sighs.

“The best things usually are,” is Sam’s reply. Steve takes this moment of silence, thinking of the moments after her stabbing him where he kissed her. Deciding against sharing, he moves along to the later portion of the mission.

“Tony didn’t take well to Bucky being there,” he says quietly. “Although without Bucky it would have been a lot more difficult. Drawing their attention a mile away made it a lot easier to get into the old hospital with less attention. But standing there, seeing Tony aiming at Bucky, I’m suddenly in Siberia again. We’re lucky that he didn’t fire and take the ship out. But Darcy just hobbles up to him, injured, right into his crosshairs. Tells him to knock it off. To be honest, I’m beginning to wonder if anything actually frightens her. She doesn’t seem to flinch at anything.”

 

* * *

 

The door opens and Jane steps out, making Steve jump up from his seated post against the wall. It has been easily eight hours altogether, Sam giving up on keeping him company after about a half hour as Steve continued his vigil. Steve can feel his stomach tie in knots from nerves and probably a little bit of hunger, but he had refused to move from his post.

“She’s up now,” Jane mutters. “As someone who’s been left by a man of your _ilk_ , I think I have a unique perspective on this whole… thing. And I want to make it entirely clear that I think this is bullshit.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise, uncertain of how to take her comment.

“You didn’t see her on October 9th, when she woke up and realized what had happened,” Jane glares at him. “And you don’t know what she told me after Thor left. So you get twenty minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bit slow, but the next chapter, much wow. so excite.


	15. Chapter 15

Darcy slowly awakens, noting Jane sitting at the small desk in the room, typing on a laptop.

“Jane?” Darcy whispers, trying to sit up.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Jane closes the laptop and turns to stuff it into the familiar duffle bag. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep or if I even should let you for too long.”

“What time is it?” Darcy asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Eh, not too late. Maybe noon or so? Although I guess that’s like five am for me. This time change is brutal, Darce. I was about to go get a cup of coffee.”

“Oh, you’re going to love the coffee here, Jane. Just you see,” Darcy mumbles, padding over to the bathroom to use the facilities and splash water on her face.

“How are you feeling?” Jane follows her, handing her a hand towel after she finishes.

“Like death.”

“I’ll bring you a cup back. But you realize someone’s been camped out in front of our door since you passed out, right?” Jane wrinkles her nose.

“Wha’, really? Who?” Darcy asks, surprised, as they go back into the main room.

“Rogers, who else?” Jane rolls her eyes. “Something’s wrong with that boy, he seems to run hot and cold like a damn faucet.”

“Did a sledgehammer make an appearance?” Darcy asks warily.

“No, but it was a close thing,” Jane shrugs. “So I expect he’ll be banging on the door when I leave. Are you ready?”

Darcy sighs.

“I guess,” she finally says.

Jane eyes her for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll be back in twenty,” she says as she exits the room.

Darcy suddenly has no idea what she’s supposed to do with her hands. She eyes the door in surprise at how soon she hears the quiet knock, followed by it cracking open a slight bit.

“Darcy?” Steve peeks his head in.

Darcy stands in the middle of the room, wringing her hands together. She’s glancing at him and around him and isn’t exactly sure what to do with herself as sudden nerves flutter over her. He latches the door shut and slowly approaches her. She’s struck by how tired Steve looks, hair disheveled but eyes clear, and amazed at how he still manages to make that look unfairly attractive. Darcy feels like an absolute mess, bandaged up and unkempt. Her hair is half burned off for Frigga’s sake.

Steve’s hands reach up, hesitate for a single moment, before resting on her shoulders. They’re large and warm, and at her lack of resistance, he pulls her close by wrapping his arms around her, nestling her into his embrace with a shuddering breath.

It feels like coming home.

A home that hasn't existed for her since she was 21 when the estate was used to pay off the last of her mom's medical bills. The sleepy little ramshackle of a house that was cozy and warm and filled with love despite the hint of tragedy. The home that has since been replaced by a parade of cold, impersonal apartments and a suitcase filled with only the necessities.

His form towers over her, hands skimming the sides of her ribs, and she has her arms hugged in between them. Steve tucks her head under his chin, which causes him to stoop a bit, and she feels so _enveloped_. _Safe_. The indescribable joyful feeling of being precious. All of the things she’d ever read that were written about the security of a Match. Silent tears track down her cheeks, as the relief washing over her just being _held_ after so long is overwhelming.

“I got you… I got you…” Steve whispers and pulls them back into a nearby armchair. His voice, echoing with memory from Amsterdam in that dulcet tone, makes her throat feel thick as she fights to not completely dissolve into sobs that are suddenly threatening. He turns her form to arrange her on his lap, pulling her legs over the armrest, and she finds her head resting on his shoulder before even realizing it.

She stares at her wrists, feeling a stab of shame pierce her as her mark practically _sings_. She should not be in this position, being comforted by the man whose time she isn't worth. Not when she’s lied to him and attacked him and somehow even managed to complicate the situation with Tony. But she can’t help herself, lingering, since everything inside of her is practically melting with relief.

Steve brings up his hand, running fingertips against her hairline and across her temple, pulling errant strands from her face. The caress helps Darcy slow down her breathing, her shuddering wet breaths slowly transforming into exhausted sniffles.

Steve shifts a moment to reach into his pocket and pulls out a cotton square, handing it to her. She stares at it, confounded by the item before a surprised chuckle escapes out of her.

“Oh my Mew-mew, I haven't seen a real handkerchief since my grandma…”

She can feel rather than see the small uncontrite smile Steve is wearing. She proceeds to wipe her eyes, sniffling still, trying to ignore the way that his hand fiddling with the ends of her uneven hair tickles her arm. Despite the embarrassment crawling up her neck at her position sitting across his lap, she has a sense of _right_ that would be perplexing if her mark wasn’t shivering in delight.

“Are you alright?” Steve asks, and she can hear the rumble of his throat through her ear pressed against his chest. His hand drops the strand of hair and skims circles against her arm.

“I don’t know,” Darcy whispers. She closes her eyes, letting a deep breath sigh through her. The moment taken, she splays her fingers out against Steve’s chest, pressing away, carefully extricating herself from his embrace.

_Why does it hurt so Frigga badly?_

She rises and tries to take a step away, but Steve grabs her left wrist gently, pulling her back to stand in between his legs. His face tilts up to her, blue eyes burning into her and she can’t look away.

“Why did you lie, Darcy?”

His thumb is brushing her mark he can’t see and she can’t help the goosebumps that explode up her arm.

“ _You_ be told that you’re just an unfortunate circumstance with the expression of a man being led to the gallows and tell me that you wouldn’t want to save yourself the humiliation,” she whispers, looking away.

Steve grimaces, expression pained, but keeps his eyes on her face.

“I’m sorry, my reaction may have been overly cautious, but it’s not like marks are a guarantee since it’s about _choice_ and not _destiny_ ,” Darcy continues. “I spent my entire childhood knowing how people can choose to walk away. Marks are just another exploit of the human condition.”

Steve huffs out a sigh, bringing his hands up to cradle her face with his hands. He stares right into Darcy's eyes, whose eyes waver in response to the intensity of his gaze.

“Darcy. My Timer had over thirty thousand days. I was sickly, I was weak, there were so many winters where it was a miracle I survived. I went looking for more fights than I should have, proving to myself that I was a man worth being marked. So that one day I could see you,” Steve pulls her face closer to his.

“ _I have dreamed of you for a hundred years_ ,” his words whisper against her lips.

Darcy lets out a sound between a gasp and a sigh, dropping the handkerchief to bring her uninjured hand up into his hair and meets his lips with her own. Relief floods through her as Steve immediately responds, tangling his one set of fingers in her hair.

His other hand trails down her spine to grip around her hip, muscular arm bracketing Darcy to his chest and a soft moan escapes her before she can help it. It’s like a dam breaking, Steve nipping her lips and tongue trailing the edges of her mouth, kissing her like he's starved for her. Darcy's hand grips his hair, fingers tugging harshly back on his neck, refusing to be daunted by his aggression.

This only seems to encourage him, as Steve leans back into the chair, pulling Darcy on top of him, who straddles his lap without thinking. There is that strange lightness of being again, that Darcy feels fill her to her very bones, of a connection finally undenied righting itself. Steve’s hands trail along her sides and to the small of her back. His lips finally leave hers, bestowing kisses down the skin he can find on her jaw, neck, and collarbone.

“So, fucking, beautiful,” each spot is accented with his rumbling voice, lips caressing and Darcy feels like she could crack into pieces all over him if only he doesn't stop. A sense of rightness, that same lock and key from their last kiss, wanting to twist into completion. The thought causes Darcy to break away with a gasp, eyes wide as she takes in his hooded eyes. His pupils are blown but his breathing is normal, unlike her own panting.

“Sweet Frigga, it that another perk?” she puffs out quietly. He tilts his head.

“What?”

“I feel like I've just run a mile and you're not even panting,” she mutters, suddenly embarrassed over her habit of speaking without thinking. Steve blinks a moment before a downright mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“How else did you think I got everyone off the Raft? I can hold my breath a _very long time_ , Darcy,” he says.

Darcy frowns, remembering reading very vague reports of the Raft, just enough to know its purpose as an underwater ocean penitentiary. The concept of him simply _swimming_ down into it is baffling, and her mind can’t quite picture it properly.

“You swam down and got them out?” she asks quietly. Steve shrugs, expression turning more serious as she seems to grapple with words.

“But you left me in Amsterdam,” finally escapes her. “Why?”

Steve sighs and takes her hand that she has thoughtlessly dropped down to his chest, pulling her closer into his embrace.

“I have a lifetime of apologies for you, Darcy. My mistakes only started in Amsterdam. I’ve fucked this up beyond any normal case, leaving you there. _I didn’t realize, Darcy_. And I’m so very sorry about that. My Timer disappeared after the serum which I assumed was a side effect. As I was steering that plane into the Arctic, it convinced me it was just another sign of my death. After seventy years in the ice, it honestly didn’t occur to me that it was still with me,” he lets out a sigh.

“And then, I come to find out, not only did I meet you and speak with you and hold you, I had let you go. In my utter stupidity, I didn’t know until I looked at my wrist days later and saw the mark struggling to shimmer zero,” Steve says on in a murmuring voice while his thumb traces circles on her right hand.

“I agonized over who you might be since I met so many people that day. But I couldn’t get your face out of my head, something in me telling me you were _right_. So I mentioned my suspicions and found you. I find out what you’ve seen, what you’ve done, and Darcy, you’re utterly terrifying. You’re heroic and impulsive and gorgeous and by god, I’ve never been so anxious reading debriefing reports in my life. But you’re in the US, out of my reach. I can’t even send you a telegram without raising suspicion,” he looks at her with a small smile. “Although I hear singing ones are still around.”

She lets out a small relieved laugh before shaking her head. Steve tugs to shift her into a more comfortable position on his lap, hugging her to him.

“Months go by with Natasha teasing me with information on you, but I’m afraid to upset the balance, afraid you could get hurt if anyone had the information. While it’s not ideal, you were safe in the Tower with Tony. And then I hear they’re trying to set up a meeting. They’ve tried so many times before, but this time they want to send _you_. My firecracker Match,” he whispers. “Even if our Match wasn’t confirmed. I was terrified, because not only are they sending you to a dangerous place, there’s no way to know if it’s because they’ve pieced together same information Natasha did to even find you.”

Darcy sighs, nodding her head.

“They did. This guy named Hector-” Steve tenses a moment and Darcy sends him a confused glance before continuing. “-visited me when I was out of it, and all but confirmed the amount of effort they were going to retrieve you. Not that they told _me_ that when they sent me, Tony’s actions were all in good faith. And I have stalwartly refused to confirm a mark for anyone.”

“It didn’t matter, though, once the information was out there of you coming to Lagos. I wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to see you for the world. Which is why Natasha and Bucky came along, partly more eyes to watch my back and if you can believe it, moral support. And then you’re in front of me, more beautiful than any photo that I’ve seen, completely indifferent to me,” Steve says.

“I don’t have much memory of that night in Amsterdam,” Darcy mutters, shaking her head again. “So I didn’t recognize you. Not that way, anyways.”

“I gathered, but damn, you can damage a man’s pride, Darcy,” Steve grumbles, rubbing his neck. “I could have been a tap dancing monkey for all it seemed to bother you.”

Darcy runs a hand through his hair thoughtfully, feeling the need to ease Steve’s embarrassment of the admission.

“Thor’s a bit larger than life. And have you met Lady Sif? No one’s really been intimidating since,” she quietly replies. “But you definitely were. Why do you think I talked so Frigga much?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in a disbelieving expression, which prompts a slight smile from Darcy.

“Your stares, Steve, have set my pulse racing since the moment I met you. I didn’t realize, ignored really, that the twinges my mark has been given me meant who you were. But why hide it from me? Why block my phone?”

Steve winces again, looking at her with guilty eyes.

“I wanted you to find out from me,” he whispers. “I figured it’d be kinder… and royally managed to fuck that up.”

Darcy snorts. “I’ll say. Nothing says, ‘hey, we’re Matched!’ like making a girl suspicious when her phone doesn’t work and then bringing up triggering a murderous rampage in your best friend. Good show.”

“I was nervous, and forgot you weren’t a mission, you’re my _Match_. Peggy would have skinned me alive if she’d heard me say any of that. As it is, I think Natasha’s been sharpening her knives,” Steve groans. “She takes it personally that I’ve been fucking this up from the get-go.”

“Why?” Darcy asks. “What does she care about Matches?”

Steve sighs with a bit of a sad smile. “She’s a matchmaking bandit, I swear, all because her Match is one-way.”

“A one-way Match? What?” Darcy replies, perplexed and alarmed. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“You’d have to ask her. She mentioned it in passing, but something like her Match is already Matched with someone else. So apparently, fate is a cruel mistress,” Steve sighs, nuzzling his nose into Darcy’s neck.

“Fate is bullshit. As I told Jane after Thor left. Just because everyone claims these marks doesn’t mean they get to control us. There’s plenty of Matchless folk who want love too.”

 

* * *

 

Steve is finding the woman in his lap absolutely tempting. Darcy freezes in his arms as if realizing she just pulled a rather large yet innocuous word into the conversation. Steve huffs a laugh into her neck, unable to help himself from trying to get nearer.

“As my ma was Matchless, I tend to agree,” he whispers underneath her ear. “And despite dad’s actual Match passing as a teen, he thought ma hung the moon. Or so I had been told.”

Darcy feels amazing in Steve’s arms. Her form fits perfectly on his lap, delicious curves pressing against him in all the most terribly wonderful ways. Despite all the bandages, Darcy looks like she had just returned from a difficult mission with all the markings of victory and she was _beautiful_.

_She’s injured. Stop being a creep._

“Where is Jane anyways?” Darcy asks suddenly, which jolts Steve from his thoughts heading a different direction, and he pulls back to look at her face with a confused look.

“She promised coffee,” she explains in a reverent tone like coffee is too serious to bring up lightly. “Not that she’d know where to go, but she’s pretty resourceful when it comes to the ambrosia from the gods.”

Steve rubs his neck again.

“I may have asked Sam to waylay her.”

Darcy bursts out into a laugh, which makes Steve grin a bit.

“Oh, we better rescue him,” she says and leans over to kiss his lips, so quickly he doesn’t have a chance to really do more than blink and feel disappointed as she hops off his lap.

“Come on, I need coffee. We can continue this later,” she tugs at his hand, and he can’t avoid a stupid grin growing on his face at her casual acceptance of his continued presence. Steve had worried that perhaps, despite making his preferences clear that she would still be angry or reluctant.

_She is worth the hundred year wait._

Darcy pulls him along out of her room and down the corridor, and they find Jane and Sam a few feet in front of the dining hall. There’s liquid all over the floor.

“For the last time, _no_ , I don’t want to see any rhinoceroses, or ‘check out’ the waterfall, or whatever inane thing you’re going to bring up next! All I wanted was coffee!” Jane is jamming a finger into Sam’s chest. Sam looks rather terrified.

“Oh, let the poor man be, Janey, he doesn’t understand the call of gods,” Darcy throws Steve a glance of amusement before walking over to take Jane’s arm and pull her into the dining hall.

“You don’t understand, it was _in my hands_ , and that jerk destroyed it!” Jane protests loudly as they leave the men in the corridor.

Steve looks at Sam. Sam shrugs.

“Hey, man, I had to think fast. Please tell me you didn’t fuck it up again,” he eyes Steve suspiciously.

“Nope,” Steve grins.

“About damn time.”

“We didn’t really discuss much about the situation, though. I don’t know if you have had a chance to look at the data she stole, that’s going to be a hard conversation,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We didn’t even discuss those test results, assuming it’s true…”

“What has you worried about it?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “You don’t have to tell her, just let her read it as you did.”

“I’m worried how she’ll react to the extent of what they had planned. She mentioned Hector, so it’s possible she saw a bit as she downloaded it, but I’m not going to hide it by default. If she wants to know, she deserves to know,” Steve replies. “God knows I only make things worse trying to hide things from her.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knew I asked T’Challa block her phone,” Steve shrugs. “Not even sure how she figured that out, to be honest.”

Sam frowns, looking confused.

“Why on earth would you block her phone? Nothing says ‘hey, something’s not right here’ than a purposeful lack of… oh shit,” Sam suddenly cuts off, looking guilty. Steve arched an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

“She used my laptop,” is his nervous reply.

“Yup and those gosh darn kittens were super helpful,” Darcy’s voice breaks in as she and Jane round the corner with mugs in their hands, sarcastically adding. “Peace of mind instantly restored. You’re still here?”

Steve can’t help himself, his face breaks into a smile at seeing her again, even if it’s only been a moment. Darcy wears a slight grin, eyebrow raised in question. Jane is staring at her coffee mug like she’s never seen one before.

“Good lord, you weren’t kidding Darce, what do they make this with?” Jane asks quietly.

“My guess was unicorn tears, but your guess is probably just as good,” Darcy shrugs as she sidles next to Steve, peering up at him. “Hi.”

That nervous little greeting, as she looks up at him with her gorgeous blue eyes, makes Steve forget himself for a moment. He leans down and captures her in a kiss again, upsetting more coffee to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you don't understand how much fun this scene was. how much editing it had. good grief, so much.
> 
> and it's hilarious to me how they only get through one bullet point before needing a coffee break. like let the poor girl wake up all the way, please!


	16. Chapter 16

“That easy, huh?” Jane asks sullenly. They have just left the men by the dining hall, with the mess on the floor, as they make their way down to the medical lab. Darcy gives Jane an incredulous look.

“Oh-ho-ho, Jane, I love you but you so don't get to say that. Thor got, what, a slap before you were about to be swept up in him?” Darcy sticks her tongue between her teeth, looking unimpressed.

Jane frowns.

“I mean, he had been gone for a couple of years and you rocked making your point, but I don't even think it was even five minutes,” Darcy taps her chin thoughtfully. “I think I may have heard something about fate bringing you together and whatnot…”

“ _You_ said fate was bullshit, Darcy,” Jane mutters. “And that it was about choice.”

“It really is. But, honestly, I’m not going to call her bluff with the end of the world is coming and I’d just like to enjoy my time before I die,” Darcy shrugs. “And, honestly, I half expect the _choice_ to leave you here has nothing to do with what Thor wanted and everything with the doom that’s coming to us.”

“Really?” Jane shoots Darcy a skeptical look. “Wouldn’t he be back by now then?”

“Would it change anything you told him before he left?” Darcy raises her eyebrows.

Jane sighs, deflating.

“Maybe,” Jane admits quietly with a sad look. Darcy leans over to give her friend a side hug as they walk.

“It’s been months, Jane, so, yes, I _choose_ for it to be ‘that easy’,” Darcy says as they walk into the medical lab. “And I don’t want to waste any more time. I would expect you to understand.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy is amazed at the progress her wounds have made, healing into thin pink lines in only a few hours, the new bandages working with strange properties that she’s never seen before.

“Are these going to scar and I should just resign myself to a life in long sleeves?” Darcy asks Dr. Onek, inspecting her arm.

“No, not at all. The more egregious areas will probably still be noticeable, but these thinner ones will fade very quickly,” Dr. Onek replies as they finish up their check-up. “You seem fine so far, the readings we’ve gathered from your device have been within normal parameters since you arrived.”

“Thanks,” Darcy follows the doctor out of the room, heading to Jane who’s in a discussion with Shuri.

“...but the amount of energy they would have needed to power that… oh, Darcy, how’d it go?” Jane turns to look at her.

“Oh, okay. Other than my hand stinging like a bitch, I’m healing up surprisingly quick. What were you talking about?” Darcy asks.

“The improbability of them actually managing to grab you here. The sheer scale of power for pulling you across the world is staggering, Darcy, and only actually possible in a handful of places here. From the readings I have, the…” Jane is cut off, interrupted by her phone ringing from her back pocket.

There’s a strange sensation of the room suddenly narrowing down on top of her. Darcy’s form goes completely still as she hears a blend of voices call out in different directions around her, darkness filling her vision.

“Darcy. _Darcy_ ,” Jane’s voice pulls through the haze, the room’s light a spotlight in her face suddenly, blinding her.

“Wha?”

“Darcy,” Jane taps her cheek, and she comes to awareness suddenly.

Jane and Dr. Onek are peering down into her face, and she realizes she’s on the floor.

“What happened?”

“My phone rang and you got this spaced out look, I swear I’ve never seen you like that,” Jane replies, looking worried. “You dropped, but fortunately, er, Bucky? was here to catch you before you smashed your head against a desk.”

Darcy turns her head to look around, not seeing the brunette man.

“Where’d he go?”

Jane looks around and shrugs.

“He was here a moment ago,” she says as she helps Darcy up.

“Fortunately, that little episode was here, Miss Lewis, so we can start looking for markers of mental tampering,” Dr. Onek comments, leading her over to an examination table with Jane following.

“Mental tampering? A phone call did that? They barely had me a day, and I’ve gone loopy?” Darcy grumbles as she climbs up.

“Not loopy, just slightly… adjusted. And since it was such little of time, it should be a fairly easy fix, if all it currently does is knock you out for a few moments.”

“Why would that be useful?” Darcy asks, confused.

“It’s just one of the many stepping stones into the psyche. As soon as they have a failsafe with a shutdown trigger, they can build you up in different ways to do their bidding,” Dr. Onek replies, scanning her head and nodding at the image that pops up. Jane is looking at her phone, frowning.

“I’ll be right back,” Jane says and disappears.

“So why was Bucky even here?” Darcy asks Dr. Onek. “Not that I’m not grateful for his help.”

“He comes by a couple of times a week for different things,” Dr. Onek replies evasively. “It’s not unusual.”

“Oh,” Darcy takes the hint of _none of your business_. A feeling that’s a mix of embarrassment for asking and burning curiosity swirls through her. Dr. Onek continues to fiddle with her equipment, humming in thought, for a few minutes.

Darcy sees Jane walk back in, face flushed in irritation.

“What’s up, boss lady?” Darcy asks her from her lying position.

“That call was Tony.”

“Oh,” Darcy says again, ignoring the spasm of uncertainty that twinges through her. “What’d he want?”

“To talk to you,” Jane grumbles. “Like he deserves it.”

Darcy hmms, knowing Jane will take it as an agreement although Darcy is more non-committal.

“To be honest, I’m not inclined to answer any phone calls here, just because of what happened to you, but this area is probably one of the safer areas, being so … whatever it is that’s throwing my magnetic readings into a tizzy,” Jane says.

“Vibranium ore is very strong in transferring energy, Dr. Foster,” Dr. Onek waves her hands around her. “And these caverns are full of it, which may affect your devices. But I do need you to actually trigger your ring tone if you’d please, so we can get readings on Miss Lewis’ reaction. If you’re alright with that, Miss Lewis?”

“Hey, I’m already laying down, what’s one more konk out?” Darcy nervously agrees. “If it’s just a general ringtone, I’m going to change everyone’s ringtones to the theme song from _Friends_. Maybe then everyone will stop being so angry. It’s hard to be mad at each other when _I’ll be there for you_ is playing.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you later,” Darcy says to Jane as they’re walking back to their rooms after the tests, which were fairly successful. She’s just spied Natasha outside, who’s sitting on the steps, and Jane shrugs as she continues on without her friend. Darcy heads out through a set of doors that opens into an open courtyard.

“So what is a one-way Match, anyway?” Darcy plops down next to Natasha. She feels strangely reassured that the motion of dropping her body like this doesn’t hurt.

“A Match not reciprocated. The person it’s aimed at has a Match, or a different mark, already. Why?” Natasha asks, eyes narrowing at Darcy.

“I’m wondering if perhaps my mom had one,” Darcy admits down to her hands, frowning a bit.“It'd certainly explain quite a bit.”

“When was your mom’s mark?” Natasha’s eyebrows are raised in mild curiosity as if she’s allowed herself to relax enough for expressions.

“St Patrick’s Day, 1990. Mom was kind of a walking cliche for the Timer marked,” Darcy shrugs. “I remember finding a photo album after she died, with a picture of the day with friends before heading out. Frizzy hair and this green plaid skirt with a cut off shirt, despite the freezing weather. Not that I was much better, to be honest. You should have seen the getup I had ready for that terrible Sunday.”

“I can imagine.”

“It just feels like such a shitty draw, y’know? I didn’t realize at the time how much pain she must have felt. Nana and Papa were so happy together, the glowing hallmarks of a successful Match, and it probably just festered the pain my mom felt for being abandoned. I wonder who she would be if they hadn’t died,” Darcy sighs. “Would it have made things worse? Or better? I was so young, I have no way of knowing. But it’s not like it matters. I used to think her being abandoned was maliciously done, somehow, but no. Assuming it’s true, Tony is very obviously Matched with Pepper. And while I can blame him for perhaps one or two terrible mistakes, I can’t blame him for being Matched elsewhere.”

Natasha is watching her with a serious expression.

“Are you angry?”

Darcy snorts.

“Of course I’m angry, but it doesn’t necessarily follow with Tony. For all I know, he doesn’t even _remember_ her. In 1990 he was, what, 19? 20? And if his mark wasn’t with mom, she was just another one night stand. Frigga knows, we all gotta get laid sometime,” Darcy leans back on her elbows on the higher steps.

“Perhaps if it didn’t seem like such a hopeless endeavor after failing to Match in the first place, or know it was okay to not have one, she wouldn’t have been so debilitated. I guess I’ll never know. Do you see your Match often?”

“Steve has a big mouth,” Natasha mutters. Darcy simply grins.

“Don’t get too mad at him, I’d never heard of it before he told me. Your mild discomfort is just payback for your ‘training’,” Darcy’s voice is amused. She waits patiently, eyeing Natasha expectantly.

“Girls from the Red Room don’t have Matches,” Natasha finally responds as she stands to walk back inside.

“That sounds like some disturbing shit, Natasha,” Darcy stands as well to follow her. “Please?”

Natasha sighs.

“He’s not been around in a long time,” she finally admits. “Which is for the best. But to be honest, his Match hasn’t been around in a long time either.”

Darcy frowns in confusion. “Huh?”

“It doesn’t matter. I am content with my life, and so is he as far as I know, now. Which is really more than you can ask for in these times, no?”

They round a corner, coming to a stop as they meet Bucky mid-stride.

“Uh, hi,” Bucky says, looking alarmed.

“What’s up, Buckster? Thanks for the grab earlier, heard it saved my noggin,” Darcy taps her temple.

“Sure,” Bucky breathes out in a tight voice. Natasha narrows her gaze at him.

There’s a pause where Darcy glances between the two of them. Bucky is refusing to look at either of them and Natasha is assessing him.

“Well, I’ll just…” Bucky starts and steps around them, disappearing down the hall.

“Ah, Frigga, he’s going to get weird now, huh?” Darcy mutters to herself. Natasha shifts her glance from the back of the man to the brunette woman next to her.

“Well, you did loudly declare a decided connection to a rather complicated situation,” Natasha shrugs.

Darcy grimaces.

“To be honest, Natasha, apart from conceding that Tony is definitely Pepper’s match and how that kind of sucked for my mom, I’m trying not to think about it. Thinking him as _dad_ just sounds weird as fuck. And the grandparents? Nah. Not happening. Nope,” she mutters. “Honestly, I’d just go thwap Bucky backside the head right now if I’d not been explicitly warned to _not_.”

“Steve’s an idiot. Go thwap Bucky,” Natasha says, nodding down the hall. “He’s probably heading to the gym, I’ll take you.”

“Ehhh?” Darcy finds herself propelled by Natasha grabbing her by the arm, pulling her along. “But…”

“But what? Roger’s has a rather severe protective streak of Barnes, but he’s not nearly as fragile as Steve thinks. You go thwap him, and make it worthwhile.”

With these words, Darcy finds herself forcibly shoved into a room with a collection of gymnasium equipment.

“I wish she’d stop doing that,” Darcy mutters under her breath as the blonde practically disappears behind her.

“Darcy?” Steve walks over from a heavy bag, looking confused. “You alright?”

Darcy’s expression brightens at seeing him, eyeing his form appreciatively, then feebly smiles as she realizes she’s getting distracted and he might not be too pleased with her task.

“Uhh, did Barnes go through here?” she asks, peering around. “I have a Natasha approved thwap to deliver.”

“What?” Steve looks confused still, glancing towards the locker room. “Yeah, but…”

Darcy spryly darts over to the direction he was looking before Steve can say anything to dissuade her. Natasha has given her a task, and by Frigga is she going to deliver.

“Hey Buckster!” she calls out, turning the winding corner of the locker rooms entrance and stops in her tracks.

“Oh, my Mew-” she whispers, eyes widening.

Bucky turns at her call, chest bared, rubbing his neck with his shirt. Darcy’s mouth falls open, gaze trailing down from his neck to his navel and back up again to the shimmery seam of the attachment of his arm. His chest is an impressive sight, muscles gloriously displayed with his broad shoulders, and his expression is wary behind the curtain of his shoulder-length hair.

“You done?” Steve exasperatedly comments behind her.

“What?” she responds distractedly.

This prompts Bucky to send a smug little smirk to the man behind her and she can _hear_ Steve roll his eyes with a huff of amusement. After a beat of silence, the macho gibe registers and jolts Darcy out of her ogling stupor. She shakes herself to stalk right up to Bucky with renewed determination and he blinks, taken aback.

“I’m not going to tell you to stop being weird. I’m not going to tell you you’re right or you’re wrong. I’m not going to take away your autonomy to your insecurities. But it’s bullshit, James Buchanan Barnes,” Darcy wags a finger in Bucky’s face. “If you think for one second my opinion has altered from what I told you a few days ago. _Nothing’s changed_.”

She frowns as a realization hits her, huffing an annoyed breath. “And now I have to go make a Frigga phone call.”

Darcy turns on her heel and stalks out past Steve, who wears a bewildered expression as he follows her.

“You’re not going to get weird too, are you?” she eyes Steve sharply as they walk across the room. “If I have to have this conversation about my supposed connection to the Stark empire more than necessary I'm-”

“I was more waiting to see what you thought about it,” he replies. “I know we really haven’t had a chance to talk about-”

“But?”

Steve’s face downright glows with determination, causing Darcy to furiously blink.

“I was given a Timer that throws me like a dart over the span of a century, and you think I’m going to snub that simply because I knew your grandpa?”

“Ah, fuck, I’d forgotten about that,” Darcy mutters before pressing on in a clearer voice. “But, to be honest, I _don’t_ have a connection. Someone made a choice and even if there had been one, it’s broken. I don’t feel like Tony or Howard or, uh, I don’t even remember his wife’s name because it’s never mentioned-”

“Maria,” Steve offers helpfully.

“-sure, her. I don’t feel like they have anything to do with me. Oh, Frigga,” Darcy’s eyes go wide. “ _That’s_ my nebulous connection? I thought it was Thor. Ah, fuck you, Hector, this all hurts my brain.”

“What?” Steve asks with eyebrows furrowed.

“Asshole came to talk to me, blathering on about coincidences and how me being in Amsterdam at the exact moment _you_ came around was just way too coincidental to not have a purpose. Big believer in the serendipity of Matches, I guess.”

“Regardless, to answer your question, no. No, I’m not going to ‘get weird’,” Steve says firmly.

“What about when I accidentally ogle all your friends? Cause, mighty Mew-mew, you are all a showboaty bunch and I’d have to walk around with a bag over my head to avoid that in the future, I expect,” Darcy squints at him suspiciously as she turns to walk to the exit.

“I don’t showboat,” Steve contradicts as he follows her to the entrance of the gymnasium.

“Clearly, that’s the problem,” Darcy replies as she leaves him by the door, a vexed expression on her face. “Throw a girl a bone, for Frigga’s sake.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as Darcy returns near her room, she passes it to go to the next door and knocks. Jane opens it a few moments later to Darcy’s pouting face.

“Jane. Janey Jane, the most glorious of bosses, the queen of the heavens…” Darcy begins, and Jane rolls her eyes.

“Okay, what? I’m so tempted to just say no, just on principle,” Jane replies.

“I need your phone.”

Jane sighs.

“That was what, an hour? I seriously considered not saying a damn thing, but we both know he’ll just keep calling,” she mutters. “Fine, but I’m running readings on wherever this is happening, just in case.”

Darcy nods and helps Jane grabs a handheld monitor before they start exploring the building for the best location.

“Honestly, Darcy, I think we’re good here,” Jane finally says as they find a little alcove built off the side of the medical bay. “I’ll be nearby.”

Jane hands Darcy the mobile phone, and Darcy bites her lip staring at it. Sitting in the corner, curling her legs under her chin, she hits the return call button and presses the phone to her ear. It rings twice.

“Hello?”

Darcy frowns for a moment, then shakes her head.

“It really sucks this has to be over the phone,” she finally mutters.

“Hey, I’m not the one who traipsed off into the wilds of another country,” Tony responds. She sighs.

“How much did you download before you destroyed it?” Darcy asks quietly, knowing exactly how he wouldn't be able to just let information go without a chance to look at it first.

“I think I got all the pertinent information,” he replies. “Pepper’s thrilled. Strangest conversation ever.”

Darcy snorts.

“It’s not like it’s really that important, but hey, at least she’s not tempted to stab me with her Louboutins,” she says. “Ah, no, that’d ruin the leather.”

“Not important?” Tony interjects, and she winces at the expression she can imagine he’s wearing.

“I mean, if it’s actually true, it doesn’t really change anything? Apparently, I’ve had a giant target on my back anyway, so I’m just another gap in the armor of you guys. We pal around enough, it’s not like anything has to _change_ ,” Darcy says softly, wrinkling her nose. “Honestly, I didn’t want to say anything about it at all.”

“Then why did you?” his voice is tight.

“I know how you like to win, Tony. Frigga knows you all do, just an occupational hazard at this point since not winning usually means dead. But I had just been ripped through the fabric of space, drugged to high heaven, and mentally tampered with. My hands were shaking as my burst of adrenaline was fading, and I’m feeling a bit badass getting myself halfway out. But I have to take the time to get info on why I was even grabbed in the first place, and I’m rewarded by reading _that_ without warning.”

“And then the escape is right there, tempting me with the thought that I can back away, breathe, gain a perspective over everything. But you stood in the way of that, Tony. So I jabbed furiously in retaliation,” Darcy closes her eyes for a moment, a deep breath exhaling from her as she continues. “My mind was reeling between that information and Steve and just was cycling how heartbreaking everything is. My mom left with a debilitating disease essentially, and _me_ who had to carry the burden of life for her. A chunk of my childhood sacrificed, and oh, I just wanted to find a corner of the ship to cry in.”

“Darcy,” Tony says. “I-”

“Don’t. Just… don’t. In any case, I can’t rectify it. I can’t place you on a shelf of sinister motives in my mind, but I can’t ignore that lifelong perception. Maybe with proper confirmation and time. So those two ideas will remain separate for now,” she firmly states. “I know Pepper is your Match. I know that with the fiber of my being, although I do wonder how it ended up that way.”

“We have weird marks,” he replies. “We had known each other for years before they actually bonded properly.”

“Weird how?” Darcy asks.

“The marks didn’t ‘set’ until I came out publicly as Iron Man.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shoot up.

“And Pepper didn’t run for the hills?” she asks.

Tony snorts.

“She may have once or twice,” he responds quietly. “She was furious at the time, too, this adorably exasperated woman, realizing that perhaps the horror of my impulsiveness would never end.”

“And she was gone when Ross hit you up about the Accords, wasn’t she?” Darcy asks, waving off Jane who was peeking around the corner to check on her.

Tony lets out a gust of air.

“Yeah,” he states simply. “It’s why I tried to call you earlier.”

“Yeah, and I about splattered all over the floor,” Darcy shrugs despite knowing he can’t see her. “Due to all that mental haberdashery they were starting to toss into me.”

“I read that. Or, well, what they had planned. Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?” Tony asks.

“I’ll be fine. I haven’t had a chance to find out just the extent of what was in the data I stole, but I’m convinced it’s pretty Frigga awful, so I'm not exactly jazzed to read it,” she grumbles. Tony emits a dark chuckle.

“Oh, considering that we all were a part of this mad scheme? Apparently, I need to be curtailed. Which is why I called you, I’m setting up a team to disentangle AI from the Accords as best I can. I don’t know how likely it is, considering all the contracts…” Tony breaks off.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to really do anything about Ross though, he has too much plausible deniability,” he finally ends.

“Of course he does, that’s the whole point. But at least your team can push a narrative of abducting, detaining, and torturing your… a staff member of AI as an excuse to leave,” Darcy skirts around using the word daughter.

“But what do we do after that?” Tony asks after a slight pause. "We still have to fight, and that puts us on a shitlist of a lot of countries.”

“Tony, it’s unlikely you’ll be done with the legal battles when the end comes. Court systems suck, and you already felt pressed for time as it is,” Darcy says. “And if the end is as bad as we’ve assumed, it won’t really matter what shitlist you make it onto as they’ll all be gone anyways.”

Darcy sighs, knowing she has to say the next bit.

“I am sorry, for what it's worth. Me throwing out… that info,” she struggles to be more specific. “...like that, it was pretty bad. Although, I don’t know if it was going to be any better with you finding it out ten minutes later from FRIDAY’s digging. Honestly, I feel like I could use a metric ton of therapy, but you all must feel that way all the time.”

“Not a lot of people to trust with that,” Tony says, adding sarcastically. “Another reason for the alcoholism.”

“Which all your enemies know and bet on. You have to let go of anger sometime, Tony. Frigga knows I will have to as well,” she replies. “It’s so easy to be angry. To let the hurt grow and think ‘I’ll never get over this, it’s too deep’ but that’s so foolish, Tony. I’d never be able to trust any of you if I held onto that anger. You _or_ Steve.”

Tony emits a derisive snort.

“Did you really Match with Steve, Hal-” he begins to ask before cutting himself off. Darcy grimaces, not sure how to react to the sudden stab of disappointment that hits her. “...Darcy.”

“Yeah,” she pushes through the awkward pause swiftly, ignoring the stinging of her eyes. “But we didn’t know. The only thing from Amsterdam I really remember was being terrified that I couldn’t stay awake to grab him, this strangely strong man I couldn’t see. And fuzzy memories of the dark and smoke. He just… didn’t realize, and left.”

“And that’s why you looked so crushed when you arrived at the Tower?” Tony asks.

Darcy frowns in confusion.

“What?”

“I don’t usually meet and greet people coming into the Tower, Darcy. But FRIDAY let me know when you both arrived since, well, Point Break would probably kill me if something happened to either of you,“ Tony sighs. “But I’ve only seen that expression a handful of times in my life.”

“I was kind of high on pain meds, Tony,” she replies. “I’m not surprised I looked like crap.”

“It’s different,” Tony insists.

“In any case, our Match status is out there. And I don’t know where that’ll go, but obviously, I can’t return to the States if I’m just a pawn in someone’s plans.”

“So you’re going to stay there?” Tony asks, a morose hint to his voice.

“For now, anyways,” Darcy sighs in confirmation.

“Then I guess we’re done,” Tony says. “At least until the end comes.”

“Right,” Darcy replies softly.

“Till next time, Lewis,” he mutters gruffly and hangs up the line.

Darcy sighs again, pulling the phone from her ear to stare at the red disconnecting numbers. She drops her forehead against her knees.

_He had to get the last word._


	17. Chapter 17

Darcy sets the pad down on the table next to the lamp that illuminates the room. It is dark outside and she hugs her legs to herself, curled up in an armchair in her room. She pulls her damp hair behind her ears, cut earlier by Natasha to a less uneven shoulder-length bob, finding it strange when the strands flutter only to her collarbone.

Steve had left her with the aforementioned pad, stolen data displayed to view at her leisure, and had asked if she wanted him to stay. The man looked ready to crawl out of his own skin with unrestrained energy, so she had sent him along.

The pad held the entire report of the operation on retrieving Steve that she had stolen. Ross had approved a man simply known as Hector to open the project, with the only orders being ‘get it done’. Hector created a shadow division, details fuzzy about his actual work going further up the command chain, which Darcy read just as Tony had mentioned - giving Ross plausible deniability. The work in creating the team, how it branched from simple investigators to scientists as soon as they realized they could attempt to utilize Jane’s work. They had been very busy as soon as Darcy had left New York, with smaller, similar tests being run on pigs over increasingly longer distances.

But it all started with the goal of leashing Steve. After declaring him a war criminal when he liberated the group in the Raft, he was considered a national threat and must be recalled. There were endless reports on sightings of him, speculations of where he may end up next. The assumption, but lack of proof, of him going to ground in Wakanda. There was a dossier on just his known aliases, meant to ping anytime they were actually input into a system. Darcy found the one ‘Grant Wilson’ in Amsterdam easily, somewhat relieved she hadn’t imagined the only information she had found at the time.

Then Darcy came to the information about herself and felt downright ill. Her life story was laid out in the most clinical of terms, including not so flattering personality traits and her own mother’s failure to thrive after her Match meet. How her lack of a declared father meant the instant paternity testing as soon as they’d acquired her, her DNA put against their rather comprehensive gene pool, which brought unexpected results.

Then the file moved to her utility.

Her utility was split into missions with the first being something she actually experienced, the building of conditioning. The beginnings of which was Mandy’s short-circuiting of her brain functions with the ringing sounds, the goal to work on her responses, building up to fear incorrect answers. They would ply images of Steve into the scenarios, assuming that she’d be susceptible to that particular angle, and it would start the roots of how to use her later.

After she’d have healed, it was training. A lot of training. Physical, mental, emotional, everything to break her down into dust so they could pour water and build her up like mud in the way they envisioned her. Darcy had to laugh at the thought of becoming a ‘sleeper agent’ since the idea was so terrifying it was ridiculous.

But then she reads exactly how she would be used to break away from the Tower, opening Jane up for fewer distractions and more work. It was why Kochanski had been entrusted in securing Jane to a ‘safer’ location. Then they’d work the information about her relationship with Tony to corner him into a more pliable position, extinguishing the unruly stepchild antics he was currently employing. She decided to skip over the different potential missions that were referenced there, including one that was labeled with Pepper’s name.

Suddenly, Steve's spoken concerns on that horrible day of what she may have been 'coerced’ to do didn't seem so far fetched.

Then there was the angle to hurt Steve, who they assumed she’d instantly Matched and bonded with as far as you could within the small time frame they had been together. He would then see the work they’d have done as they paraded her around, pushing her to international figurehead status with either Avengers Initiative or some foreign dignitary. Teasing her image out and about, hoping he would step in the trap that they’d be much more cautious about planning.

For being so versed on Steve Rogers, they didn’t seem to realize he would have gotten her out of that situation the first time he found her. And Darcy knows down to her bones that he would not have failed to find her. That man didn’t know how to quit anything when he set his mind to it.

Standing up with a sigh, Darcy smooths the skirt of her lightweight dress and decides to find Steve. She sets off from her room, heading towards the gymnasium that she was introduced to earlier in the day, close to the office Steve used.

Arriving there, she hears sounds of his fists hitting a bag before she sees him. Pausing at the doorway, she simply watches him as he beats on the heavy punching bag, impressed at it not ripping off. He’s stripped down to just a thin t-shirt that sticks to his back and a pair of exercise pants that leave absolutely nothing to Darcy’s imagination.

She knows he can hear her approach as she strolls in.

“Does it help?” she nods to the bag. Steve frowns at it.

“Not really. Although this is probably the longest I’ve kept a bag from breaking. T’Challa has a lot of unique equipment that’s actually difficult for me to break. Not impossible, but… difficult,” Steve shrugs, turning to her. “Why?”

“May I?” she asks, taking a moment to hold up her hand and remember how to make the fist Natasha taught her. Steve grabs her hand, shaking his head.

“Need to wrap your hands first,” he walks her over to the bench where he has a bag of supplies, sitting down next to her.

“So what’s bothering you about it?” Darcy asks blandly, realizing how concerned the report had made him.

Steve sends her an uncertain glance and hesitates a moment before unfolding her hand to begin wrapping it. She’s watching his face with a calm expression, silently waiting.

“Everyone important to me seems to get damaged somehow. Which I suppose is fitting with how…” Steve pauses in the wrap.

“...with how?” Darcy prompts, grabbing his hand with her much healed left one to have him continue wrapping.

“...how I feel broken,” he admits in a whisper, letting her guide his movements around her hand, choosing specific paths for the tape between her fingers that Darcy doesn’t recognize. “And they wanted to break you, too.”

“They did,” she agrees, watching as the roll adds padding to her hand in increments. “But they didn’t.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you would have never been a target,” he whispers, fastening the roll. Darcy squints at him, wrinkling her nose.

“Are you sure? I can think of quite a few people who have tried to kill me, and they had nothing to do with you. And it’s not like you could control our Timer,” she holds up her hand, padding overly thick due to her small hands in his large hand wraps. She gives Steve her left hand to start wrapping.

“You’re right. But still, it seems like this very specific horror keeps coming up. Tearing my friends down until they don’t recognize me, using them to commit horrible deeds. Bucky didn’t know me at all after I recognized him, and I would have died to his confused fury if I’d been any less than myself,” he frowns, threading the second material in between her fingers much more gently this time. “I should have done more.”

“Could you have?” Darcy asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Steve admits, pausing his motions.

“Yes, you do,” she insists.

She nudges his hand again, and he returns to finishing the wrap on her left hand, quiet during the moment before securing it. Darcy holds up her hands.

“All protected with your tape,” she says softly. “You’ve done everything you can.”

She pats his shoulder, Steve’s expression thoughtful, and stands up to walk over to the bag. He follows behind her.

“Now what?” Darcy glances up at him, looking amused as he steps up right behind her. “I just hit it?”

Steve takes her right hand, gently forming it into a fist and runs his hand down her arm to show her the motion of jabbing her arm straight out.

“You want to keep it straight and strong. The force transfers down through your arm to one direct point at the end,” he murmurs, and despite the sedated tone of the conversation, Darcy can’t repress a shiver of desire that skirts down her spine.

Darcy throws out her fist, connecting with the bag, surprised at how comfortable it actually feels with the padding wrapped around her hand. How satisfying it is, even if she’s essentially a mouse with how light the contact is.

“That’s the idea, yeah,” Steve nods, taking a step back so she has room to work with. “There are more types of punches and kicks, but that’s the first step.”

“What do you think about when you’re doing this?” she asks, taking the time to make sure she squeezes her left fist correctly. “It’s just going to remind me of lovely thoughts of flattening Mandy.”

She throws out a couple of punches, thinking of that sterile patient room and the anger coursing her the entire time whenever she was awake there. The sing-song voice of Mandy, wheedling her to acquiesce. Being essentially chained to a bed by her own body’s weakness, susceptible to sedatives and just as frail as Hector had said.

Steve shrugs.

“I used to think a lot about the war. It seemed like such a larger than life task at the time, but with how badly I wanted to help, I’d do anything to do my part. To prove myself. Then I woke up to this overwhelming era, and it seems so much more complicated,” he sighs. “Now I just think about how I could have navigated to avoid all the damage.”

“You’re only human, Steve,” Darcy throws another punch before turning to him, breathless. “And fallible. But, even with all of our misunderstandings, a good man.”

Steve gives her a look she’s not quite sure how to interpret. His eyes are narrowed in interest, but also has a hint of a smile as if he’s not quite sure what to make of her. He steps up next to Darcy, causing her to fully turn and reverse into the heavy bag with her back, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“You are by far the most captivating soul I’ve ever met,” Steve whispers, dropping to his knees to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her stomach. He holds her there, squeezing slightly.

Darcy frowns in confusion, but can’t help the tips of her fingers from stroking the soft hair presented to her.

“Thanks?”

“You see everyone as a _person_ , Darcy. Do you know how incredibly rare a gift that is?” Steve looks up at her, where her face starts to break into a smile, eyebrows still furrowed in confusion.

“...no?” she says. “I just hang out with my peeps and dodge explosions.”

“There are some people who look past the skin, past the words, past the bluster. They peer in and terrify you with their sight, make you want to be _better_ ,” Steve looks so earnest with these words.

“That’s sweet to say, but I don’t do that at all,” Darcy denies. “Take you for example. I deflected constantly, distracting myself. I built you up so much in my head that when I found out you were my Match, I deceived myself. Deceived myself about you! And you as the person were discarded.”

“Did I not earn that, though? I stared at you, practically abducted you, then went on to hide things from you. I scolded you for things out of your control. And you bore it all with fortitude,” he whispers, a tinge of regret in his voice.

Darcy sighs, shaking her head. Steve continues.

“Why do you think so many have closed ranks around you? I can’t speak for Jane or Tony, but Thor would always boast of your bravery. Natasha has been championing for you for months, tempting me with tidbits about you I’m not even sure how she found out. Wanda insisted on seeing you the first night you were here, and won’t hear a word against you. Bucky spoke of things to you even we haven’t even discussed. And I’m here on the ground, pulled apart from my fear and anger with only a few words from you.”

“Well, you’re a bit biased now,” Darcy says.

Steve shakes his head, hand trailing circles against the small of her back.

“I knew it the moment I met you, with your sincere opinions and whirlwind stories. I think you honestly dazed me those first few hours,” he replies. “I remember walking into that room and realizing that despite my best intentions, saying anything was going to be difficult, since you’re so beautiful, Darcy. Suddenly, I was eighteen years old again, tongue-tied around a pretty dame.”

“You seem to be doing just fine now,” she comments quietly, fingertips skimming the sides of his neck. His fingers trail down her backside to the back of her bare thighs, large hands spreading to rub her skin which still bear the thin weblike lines of her injuries.

“Because you’re you, Darcy,” Steve whispers, eyes dilating as his expression darkens. “And you make me yearn.”

“Yearn for what?” she whispers back, licking her lips.

Steve suddenly rises, picking her up easily as he settles her legs around his hips, but it surprises a gasp out of Darcy as she throws her arms around his neck thoughtlessly. He walks a few steps to the edge of the room, pressing her up against a wall, his arousal already prominent underneath her.

“To be better,” he whispers as he dips his lips against her collarbone, dragging across her skin, his fingers trailing down her thighs along the light pink scars.

“To be worthy,” he places a kiss at the junction of her neck, spreading his hands out again to rub firmly back up her legs.

“To be patient,” he trails a breath up to her ear, whispering. “ **B** ut, fuck, are you entirely too tempting.”

Darcy moans, and she starts to beat her hands together, trying to get the wraps off quickly. Fingertips are not enough, and she is frustrated at her inability to touch. Steve chuckles darkly, the heated breath puffing right into her ear, which she feels vibrate down her body. He reaches around to grab her wrists in a smooth movement, and she complies, thinking he’ll rip the velcro free. But then he twists her wrists together gently and pins them above her head with one hand.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” she exclaims. “I swear if you don’t touch me, I’m going to…”

“I am touching you, I have you right here, pressed against me in glorious ways, and by god you’re delectable,” he murmurs into her ear, right hand trailing figure eights against the bottom of her ass.

Darcy hisses a breath and shimmies her hips, rubbing her core against him. He groans through his teeth, bucking her up against the wall and she moans again. It takes a few moments for her to gain the power of speech, mind caught up in the sensations of her position displayed for him.

“Okay, so what’s the _plan_?” Darcy’s voice finally whines out. “Because I feel like there are entirely too many clothes in this scenario, and nothing particularly soft to fuck you into…”

Steve releases her hands, pressing their entwined bodies away from the wall and capturing her lips with his own. She leans into his kiss, arms wrapping around his neck as her fingertips try to gain purchase on the velcro, and a tearing sound can be heard as she manages it. Instantly, she feels the wraps unwind off her hands to the ground as he’s carrying her out of the room.

Darcy has no idea how many people they scandalize with their display, distracted by how his tongue skirts the edge of her mouth in a teasing way, but it’s a blessedly short distance to a door she’s never seen before. She only notes the furious waving of his wrist against the lock as it pops opens for them before he carries her in. Kicking the door closed, his fingers brush against the zipper at her back, and he begins to peel it down.

Darcy shimmies against his hips once again, causing him to groan and release her lips. He walks a few more steps, and she tugs at the fabric at his shoulders, knowing there’s no way she can effectively manage to get his shirt off of him while in his arms. Steve carries her through another doorway before finally tossing her onto the bed that’s there, following her and swallowing her surprised gasp with another kiss.

He brushes his hands against her shoulders, pulling the fabric of her neckline down, trapping her arms momentarily. Steve breaks away to gaze at her arms trapped together, pressing her breasts up high, spilling her generous bosom out of her bra that’s peeking over the neckline of the halfway removed dress.

“My god, Darcy, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters as he stares, and Darcy’s fervor is temporarily distracted by amusement as his ears going pink. She pokes Steve’s torso, which visibly jars him, and he reaches up to pull his shirt over his head in one quick motion.

She pulls her arms out of the armholes of her dress, looking at Steve as his torso finally comes into sight and she sighs contentedly. Darcy skims her fingers against the planes of his chest down to his waist, fascinated by the ridges of strength, and he shivers.

“You’re not so bad yourself, soldier,” she winks up at him with a smirk.

“Enough of that,” Steve murmurs, leaning back over to pin her gently to the bed. Her legs settle around his hips again and it’s her turn to shiver as he begins to place soft kisses down her neck, following one of the faded lines. She grasps his shoulders, and _oh_ , they’re more glorious than she’d ever let herself imagine, skimming her fingers over his skin.

Steve broad forearms dart underneath her causing Darcy’s back to arch as he presses her sternum up into his lips. He essentially is displaying her chest to him, nuzzling at the lace of her bra as he fiddles with the clasp at her back. A quick snap of his fingers, _oh my Mew-mew he’s dexterous_ , and he’s pulling at the center gore of her bra with his teeth. There is no resistance from the scanty material as it disappears off her body.

Darcy’s mind goes blissfully blank as he proceeds to demonstrate to her all of his yearning desires.

 

* * *

 

Later, Steve is curled on his right side around Darcy’s sleeping form, breathing into her neck as her shortened hair tickles his nose. Her legs are tangled with his and he is absolutely marveling over her quiet form. There’s a strange feeling of a slight shift, something inside of him settling. Brushing her hair away from her face with his left hand, he can see his mark on his wrist shimmering a darker purple than he’s ever seen.

Darcy shifts in her sleep, rolling more onto her stomach, the bared plane of her back fully visible.

Steve leans over to kiss the nape of her neck. He shifts his body around Darcy, trailing kisses down her spine. She sighs contentedly as she slowly begins to waken, before tensing in mild confusion. Steve rests his chin on her shoulder gently, and she turns her head to blearily blink at him.

“Hi,” Darcy whispers, sending him a soft look.

“Hi,” he replies, ducking his chin to nuzzle the skin he just left.

“Is it me or is fate pretty shit?” she asks, causing Steve to look up in alarm.

“We’re both here, in this point in time, now. But we could have been here years ago,” Darcy clarifies, rolling onto her other side to face him with a sigh. "It’s only after I’m sent as the harbinger of doom that we even got here.”

Steve huffs a breath of relief, bringing his hand up to her face to rub his thumb against her cheek. His arm rests on her shoulder, and she turns her head to kiss his palm.

“It’s more because I’m a pinhead,” he says. “And should have just flown out to New York in October anyway. Wanted status be damned.”

Darcy shakes her head slightly, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“That would have only given us months. I want more,” she breathes out a low voice.

“We’re here now,” Steve says.

“But for how long?” she whispers, looking anxious.

“For as long as we can. And then for years after we take care of whatever is coming.”

Darcy gives a sad smile, bringing a hand up to skim her fingers against his brow and across his temple to his ear. Her eyes are searching his face, a somber expression gracing her features. Steve watches her seem to take note of all the angles of his face, his ear, his chin.

“What are you doing?” he asks, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

“Memorizing you,” she whispers, looking a bit abashed at the admission. Steve leans over to kiss her, smoothing away her embarrassment as she responds immediately.

The band at Steve’s wrist vibrates suddenly, which has him pull away in concern as Darcy immediately tenses. At Steve’s look, she shakes her head.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d have another blackout. Don’t worry about it,” she mumbles.

Steve presses his lips to her forehead before standing up and pulling on pants. Walking into his living space, he puts on an audio-only option.

“Rogers,” he says.

“Steve,” Natasha’s voice is tense. “It’s here.”

“What is?”

“Sensors have picked up a ship inbound to Earth. It’s ginormous. Darcy’s warning… it’s here.”

Steve turns to look back in the bedroom, finding Darcy standing in the doorway with one of his shirts pulled on and a blanket wrapped around her. Her face is solemn.

“I’m on my way,” Steve says, ending the call.

“I have to go,” he says to Darcy, who nods. She steps aside to sit on the bed as he begins to pull out tactical gear from his closets, dressing carefully, occasionally pausing as Darcy helps him buckle particularly tricky to reach straps.

“I’ll go find Jane, see how we can help,” she says quietly as he finishes dressing. His countenance has slowly stiffened as he has adorned his outfit, and Darcy looks up at him with a proud little smile.

_Of all the years and all the pain, this is the face I worked so hard to see._

“My Match is so dapper,” she states, standing up to reach and smooth Steve’s hair back.

He leans down, bundling her up in his arms in a tight hug, nuzzling her neck and breathing her in. After a moment, she pulls away to crush her lips against his. He’s pleasantly surprised at her zeal as she immediately opens to him, a sort of desperation taking hold of her as she clings to him and he loses track of time. She pulls away abruptly.

“Go,” she gives his cheek one more peck before he nods and sets her down.

Walking out of a room to do his duty had never felt so difficult. She presses on his stomach, huffing out a little exasperated laugh. Steve takes a few steps backward, hesitating still.

“Go!”

He finally turns and leaves the room, hearing her soft chuckles. It’s not until he’s reached the command room where Natasha, Bucky, and Sam are gathered with T’Challa and Okoye, discussing the situation, that he’s struck with a realization.

_So that’s what an end-of-the-world kiss tastes like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So couple things. I know nothing about boxing but the internet is a fabulous place where random google searches give some sort of weird frame of reference. 
> 
> I reaaally didn't want to skirt past the M rating I put up, so I maaaaay make an E outtake of the scene later. Proper smut requires proper moods.
> 
> I started writing this March 27th, after two weeks of the flu running through my family, and I have no idea where it came from. It exploded into 60k words without me even noticing. I wasn't planning on doing a NaNoWriMo type thing in April, hah. But I knew if I didn't get it out before Infinity War came out, I likely never would, as my headcanons will probably adjust after the movie. There were some aspects I've been chewing on for a while, such as the almost Mr Darcy declaration of love to a confused Elizabeth Bennet (see chap 8), but I knew I had to have a proper context to make it work. Between that and the fact that I've been reading a lot of soulmark stories, I wanted to try something that was a little different from words (which I can't for the life of me think of clever ones) or just simple names.
> 
> Ah, and someone said they hoped it had nothing to do with Infinity War... which other than the plot device to get Darcy in Wakanda, it really has little to do with anything. From here would go towards said Infinity War shenanigans. I'm just not sure how I'd tag that. so.
> 
> There's still areas I'm a bit disappointed in how they came out, but for the sake of the stories progression just had to go. I really appreciate everyone's comments and kudos and <3s and it's been amazing to get the comments/questions as I was writing because it did prompt me to think 'well I need to explain that a bit more to make it more fleshed out' so, kudos to you guys for helping me keep the continuity solid.
> 
> Thank you for the month long journey. It was fun to have a distraction before I get to see the movie. :)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


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